Dying

A rose,

Starting to blossom,

A vibrant shade,

Sharpened thorns.

Sway by the Cathedral,

Under the oak tree,

Raindrops fall,

Baptizing the core.

The rose cut,

Like all the others

Brought inside,

Advertising its beauty.

Placed in a vase,

Sat upon a shelf,

Souls float around,

Above the dying life.