The Black Rose


Black Rose of Death

Black Rose of Death











Why are you cast away from lovers

red and thorns that prick the thumbs

of gentler times of long ago when

beggars wept in streets of plagues

and rats ate moldy bread for want

of souls lost in the streets of darkness.


The King and Queen ate meat and

spices from the orient with fruits

plucked from budding trees of passion

from the sun and soil so rich of gold

and minerals.


Whilst dying in the streets of black

rose death was a burden on the souls

of mortal man who for want of living

died among the sick and weak yet tried

in vain to save their souls at least for

generations left to weep at their feet

in catacombs so deep below.


Farewell my friends so I may pluck

these pedals of death cast upon my soul

and leave this god forsaken place for

hell to find a home to rest my weary

broken heart that flowered with

a seed of hope.


Yet eternal is not the place I want to

lay my past upon just take me as I

am without the lavish scent of roses

sent me as I squirm among the

blackened rose that wilted long ago.


I leave you now to walk among  

the dying souls who stack like rubble

in the streets for burning from the

stench they leave in rags so poor

and plagued by vermin carrying

death and offer up a silent prayer

to children left to walk alone

in weeping silence.


© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved


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