Black roses sprawl, to droop, then fade
raking tendrils of her attic’s shades;
a brief display which glints inked nights
only for time’s sake, boughs do parade.
How fleeting the luster of stems’ arms,
between weeping dusk and chilled sun
twigs crack like love's farewell --sad moon,
a wish-- the fragrance of bliss gone.
She digs mementos; gazing afar
perhaps to touch the light of stars,
that hide dawn’s lamp from memories
instead her eyes reflect more scars.
Though pain mocks unbecoming heart
a young bough nestles on ground's arc;
granting reprieve in place of tears
to kindle sparks for dance to start.
Night-Dark-Black-Happy Sad Contest of Craig
by nette onclaud