A Rose of Death,
With petals of blood,
Leaves of emerald,
On vines of buds.
Growing from shadows,
Striving on pain,
I see Grim’s flowers,
Being watered by bloody rain.
They never die,
Yet they never lived,
Just beautiful killers,
Eating our vain,
As I stare at this
Rose of Death,
It relieves me of my pain.
Zibermonkey Community Member 
|
|
