The Petal of Lifes Rose

He sits alone as is world has ended Why does he not cry as his time was bended He saved a child from the clutch of intended Now he will mend what he has not pretended As the flow of his tears climb in slow motion Down his cheek of scars and constant devotion His wisdom no longer alive with his potion Of constant rage and loveless emotion He picks the petals of the flower of life Down to the last as though it was a knife As he slits his tender wrists with strife With the last of the petal persuing the wife For his last breath comes with uncertain The light that shone bright now behind a curtain His eyes close with all intention As the petal of life no longer distinction