White Rose
The bloodstained rose sang softly with a weep
Of the love and deceit that I cherish so deep.
For the ones so dull that called her a freak.
For she took out her wrists and slit them hard
And cried as she was morbidly scarred.
Now she lays on the floor half asleep
And lets the blood sink and seep
Into the garden and by the rose
So white and innocent, rebirthed without woes.
This poem is about:
Our world