Romance in its afternoon, lays claim to a bleeding heart,
Pricked by the thorns of a dark dead rose.
Left bereft of tenderness, and the sweet taste of love,
It hardens, like ebony, sinking into a lost soul.
Deeper it falls, down into the well of despair.
Yet at the top of the well stands a shadow
Within its hands the rope of hope.
Now the heart must decide,
To live or die.
Author notes
After seeing a picture of a black rose, on the anniversay of my partner moving back to the states, I wrote this.
A contest entry
- What Are You Feeling? by Simone Brooklyn.
1050 points, ended November 25, 2008, 33 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Adding your comment: