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The Rose sits,
It stares into the light.
No need to know how it got there,
It feels that it is right.
A darkness overwhelms it,
The object blocks the sun.
A sharp pain at it's waist,
The evil has been done.
The Rose sits,
It stares into the light.
For hopes of dying soon,
To end it's life imprisoned.
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Submitted: September 16, 2007
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Author's Comments

I wrote this poem near the end of my last year of high school. Not sure what was going through my mind when I wrote it, but I think it turned out ok.
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~kirastorm:iconkirastorm: Sep 17, 2007, 2:51:36 PM
i like it. very cool

--
fading in the future
the past awaits