Shady Black Rose

Many times in my life I lost my will to write. I became a shadow a shady black rose left dying to her muse.

“I Leave Behind Ashes & Dust”

            I am fear, nothing but ash is left in my quack; my dust is all that you will find. I am a poet forgotten, like suit and ash I settle in the cracks of your mind. Lurching forth; lacking light and with but one particle of thought. Yet you will remember me after my passing. I gave you no choice, but to remember my hue and my presence is to remember myself. I am more to you than this shady black rose, left dyeing decaying by the rays of the sun. My perfume lingers on as my scent wafers in your mind. I a lingering rosebud or a lilac that’s bluer than the skies burned forever in your eyes. My death will not be my ending it will be but a diluted time a time of burnt memories and long forgotten words. I the poet left my mark. My ink smear is a scratch of ink that bleeds through to the other side of the paper. Forever staining your thoughts with my wordplay, my muse is my sin, a whisper that bleeds onto paper. I am nothing more than this shady black rose. I wear my thorns proudly, as any queen should. With my velvety dark red petals, and my halo of inked thoughts that shadows my rosy stem.  

 

“A vampire lives for nothing more than blood, love, ashes, and dust.”

            I am nothing more than a shadow, a particle in the sea of life. My soul will never be dust, or ashes will I be. For I live on forever through my writings and my ink smears. My paper becomes like a vampire drinking my ink as if it was my life’s blood. It’s the way a poet survives. 

Author's Note

Please be kind, I want friendly feedback.