Insular is she this Onyx Rose,
Kissed by crescent moon glows.
Her rapturous face lifts to inhale,
Savoring petrichor atmospheric trail.
Raindrops descend thirst chastised,
Exquisite supple petals baptized.
Fragrance enchants with apathetic sighs,
Beckoning the midnight fireflies.
Frenzying the sweet aromatic night,
She mourns not for abstained sunlight.
Harvest not this fallen Onyx Rose,
For she is fickle where she grows.
Her callous thorns deeply lance,
If you should pluck her by chance.
Beseeching to heaven chained to stone,
Her celestial descent well known.
It is said an angel had fallen from grace,
Renowned for her beauteous poetic face.
Vanity the downfall, her deadliest sin,
Exquisiteness only deep as sable skin.
Decaying as death claimed the fall,
Her essence adhered to stone garden wall.
In her place beauty lugubriously grows,
Reborn the fallen Onyx Rose.
Envious of iridescent stars above,
For she is bereft of heaven's love.
Onyx Rose thrives within darkness sublime,
Her woesome fairytale told once upon a time.