The Black Rose
“The red rose whispers of passion
And the white rose breaths of love.
Oh, the red rose is a falcon
And the white rose is a dove.”
But this Black Rose that I give to you
Yells of Death, and Re-birth,
It is not a falcon or a dove, but something of more girth.
It is a Raven, a messenger of graves
Coming to tell you that I am dead.
Dead to be Re-born, a re-birth that saves,
But I speak not of Jesus, though that too,
I speak of me finally being over you.
I speak of me following my dreams,
To places you just can not follow.
And finally I end this with my now
Empty heart, which rings of being hollow.
Devon
And the white rose breaths of love.
Oh, the red rose is a falcon
And the white rose is a dove.”
But this Black Rose that I give to you
Yells of Death, and Re-birth,
It is not a falcon or a dove, but something of more girth.
It is a Raven, a messenger of graves
Coming to tell you that I am dead.
Dead to be Re-born, a re-birth that saves,
But I speak not of Jesus, though that too,
I speak of me finally being over you.
I speak of me following my dreams,
To places you just can not follow.
And finally I end this with my now
Empty heart, which rings of being hollow.
Devon
posted by Poetic_bum at 3:14 p.m.
1 Comments:
hahahahahha, no no it was an old poem... But the truth of it still remains... I over her. Well I think I am. I now go a series of days without thinking of her, so I am saying I am. But megs, my girlfriend, makes my heart anything but hollow...
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