Bleedeth the Orchid (Orchid of the Lost)

(Part 1) Beautiful Death.

Unfathomable depths of perception’s faults,
Following pious fashions like a Death Wish Cult.
Wordless thoughts of an atheist’s Demise,
Bleedeth my Orchid in the name of the Wise.

When the bitterest pill tasted oh, so sweet,
You prayed to Night your eternal soul to keep.
And when Everlasting Dusk opened wide Her arms,
My Sacred Orchid lay bleeding to protect you from harm.

Unable to quench the thirst for the End,
Something less desirable than medicated trends.
The Reaper awaits like a Gentleman of old,
Watching as my Orchid grows blue and cold.

Do you remember when I gave you my Orchid fair?
Long before the Dark became a broken Nightmare.
You promised me you’d love me forever and more,
You said this all-my Orchid to your bosom’s core.

The sun finally sets upon a bloodstained flower,
All beauty diminished with a few short hours.
The empty husk of my Orchid, lifeless and grey,
As the light fades from another tragic day.

(Part 2) Merciless Rebirth.

From beneath the stones, the roots do grow,
Reaching forever for the seeds you sow.
Corpse like fronds of a pale, fetid green,
Suffocate the tombstone and silence the scream.

Slowly the vines climb over rough stone, chipped,
Upwards towards the Death-like fabric, ripped.
Creeping through the Angel’s scarred wings,
There crawls a blossom to betray all Kings.

A shaft of light from Heaven sent,
Illuminates the silk of a flower once dreamt.
From the glow it draws strength to ease its pain,
To heal all its hurts and bless its maims.

The Angel’s head bowed in silent prayer,
Refuses not the flower, He will not dare.
Instead a single tear falls, a bloody sorrowful tear,
That the flower drinks quickly and holds Him near.

The moon now climbs to its midnight peak,
And the Orchid awakes and tears it does weep.
This everlasting vigil, this guardian bloom,
Bleedeth my Orchid that lies on your tomb.

(Part 3) Orchid of the Lost

The season doth changes without due care,
And in your graveyard, the Orchid is still there.
It’s pitying cries of sorrow and torment
Add only to the Dead City’s harrowing lament.

But this Night is different, something changed,
Something stirs in a rotted coffin’s remains.
The moon arises, but her beauty is marred.
Blood upon her face like an horrendous scar.

A cold wind blows, as up from the ground,
The corpse of She Who Dreams breaks through the mound.
In a moment of fury, Her anger unbridled,
She reaches for the Orchid of the Lost and Suicidal.

The stem does break and the Orchid screams,
This pain unknown, this terror no dream.
To the ground thrown, to lie upon the dirt,
My Orchid lay crying, bleeding and hurt.

As the sun arises, the petals wither and die.
By dawn’s early light, the Orchid no longer cries.
It lay in silence upon the grass, still and dead.
“Bleedeth the Orchid,” the stained Angel said.