The Color Of Roses

A black rose in the midst of darkness.

A white rose in the presence of light.

A red rose in a pool of blood.

Every rose has petals.

Every rose has thorns.

And like everything else the rose withers and dies.

Nothing can stop it.

Many things can prolong it

But nothing can prevent it

A black rose to represent the darkness that lingers in people’s hearts

A white rose to show the light of hope in that suffocating darkness

And a red rose to bind them both together in the name of love.

Nothing in this world can compare to this feeling of emptiness and betrayal.

I did nothing wrong.

I said everything right.

Nothing happened that wasn’t supposed too.

Yet why do I feel this way.

I the middle of it all I was like a red rose in full bloom.

The darkest shade of crimson and deep in love.

In the worst of it I was the black rose.

Beautiful in its own way

A color black that could swallow up even the brightest of lights

The white rose held my hopes.

But like death the inevitability that I was going to be hurt was in escapable.

The petals of love wore down to the stem and even farther until nothing was left.

The petals of darkness were only fed on the vitality of the withering petals and fueled by my confusion.

The petals of hope grew dark and joined those of the darkness.

And so I was left floating here in the midst of a darkness so great it threatens to eat me alive if I am not careful.

We walk a line between one kind of life and two kinds of death.

For if we are living we need to make the best of it

And yet it we are not careful we can die in many ways.

Our mind breaks down and our body becomes numb and we wish for the final approach of the real thing.

Our body goes numb and we can’t feel anything at all from our head to our toes.

We just don’t care.

And all of this can be represented in striking and dangerous beauty in what we all see in the Color of Roses.