Rain Painted Rose

Don't we all live deep within the walls of a rain painted rose. Rosy moments once fresh are set ablaze. Whose bones are jewel encrusted with decay. within our deepest reds The scent of saints and dreams are bled. Glancing off a soul of glass. So very briefly glowing off the face- As every breath tends to climb toward light reaching the softest edge giving away. Tumbling down a stairwell of thorns- The clowns of living cycling round and round a face forlorn. Turned to dream ware we're juggled (dented circus pins). Between hell and hopeless. The kiln of God-the devils twisted rope- Don't we all live within the walls of a rain painted rose.