Rose Blood
Red rose of thy heart's slow dying garden,she hath shown me the sharpest
thorn.
I lay now among weeds and flowers deciesed in the wake of Autumn.
A spring flower hath drawn her eye and I am left to bleed and decay.
How will you wash the blood from your hands sweet beautiful rose?
How do you forget a grat love with such ease?
For she hath swept me aside as dead leaves in summer.
Chances wasted...I loathe in silnce.
Soon enough I will break down.
Soon enough I will blow far away in the winds of the storm inside.
She will be left with nothing to know me by except for the stains forever in her
grasp.
You will never wash the blood away.
You will never wash your hands of me...
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
