A beautiful white rose
alone amongst tall weeds and grass.
Not a single flower stands against its perfection.
Both man and beast trodden upon the flower
yet still it stands strong.
But as years go by
the flower dies
for it cries
where it shant belong.

As winter subsides the flower blooms again
in radiance as powerful as the sun.
But no longer is the flower without blemish.
Scars not of time
nor of physical punishment show.
But a single red streak adorns its once pretty face
for a tear of oblivion cried shows darkness deep inside.

Upon the same root grows another rose.
one as crimson death.
This flower is wilted and shattered
though new to this world it has no life.

Together the flowers grow,
spawning life anew.

Love had grown inside the garden.
But broken it would become.

Another flower bloomed
black as truthless hearts.
So charm and power stole the white rose away.

Once more the winter fades to reveal the pain be had.
Crimson death is once more wilted
this time beyond repair.

White radiance is torn asunder
by he whom she loved.
For he had fallen in with weeds.
Assassins of the beauty to be had.

The spring is here
but no flowers remain
all things died and blood shall rain.
Love is lost once again
hearts are broken
pedals stained...
 
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