The fragile black rose, Alone in the street, Frightened to move, But brought to his feet, By a mystical mind, Hidden in shadows, Reluctant to stir, In the mist of an arrow.
Taking his petal, By his right hand, Feeling his texture, A rough contraband, an emotion so high, His hand did run deep, Relating his fear, Of never to sleep.
By his thorn, It did prick, A poisoning syrup, For him to sip, Goodbye to the stranger, The clock has struck twelve, Into the shadows, He did delve.
A gift of death the rose did not want to give but was presented with no choice by the "mystical mind hidden..".
Love the flow of this as well as the hiddens.
I really like how you have used the normally feminine image of a rose and made it male - this is a great idea! Brilliant short poem, brought some amazing mystical images to mind when I was reading it.
I planted said beauty last year and her blooms are the deepest red that is shadowed in a dark cape of color.
I love the way you tell two tales with this poem very nice it is dark and rich just like it's name sake
Wow deep. I enjoyed the read. The title reminds me of a poem I wrote about a black rose. This was sad but exspressed true feeling and meaning. Even thought life is hard you must take the good with the bad and make a rythemic dance with it. You did a wonderful job with your words and how you put your feelings. This was perfect :)
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