The Rose
In desperation, the rose calls out,
to the lily, across the heath.
Her thorns all blunt, from the struggle within,
the rose can barely breathe.
As the ivy grows,
higher and higher,
wrapping itself around,
the rose, in it's wake.
The rose, she is wilting,
her petals are falling,
to the ground, all around,
but making no sound.
The silence is crushing,
as the life ebbs away,
of the beauty within,
a split-second, of this life.
