The Black Rose

You might have been wondering why i've been a bit scarce of late, so let me tell you a little story by way of explanation -

Imagine,
if you will,
a jet black rose,
seen at night,
balanced on the edge of a high cliff,
moving gently in the breeze,
first tilting one way
and then the other,
always seeming as though it might fall.

One wants to grasp the rose,
for it is such a unique thing,
so rare and exquisite in color and form,
that it would be heartbreaking
for such a beautiful thing to fall
into the chasm below.
And yet,
the thorns upon the rose are both numerous
and razor sharp,
and each time one attempts to reach out
and touch it,
one pulls his hand away
only to find wounds of surprising depth
and severity.

It is hard to see,
this black rose,
for it is the color of the night which surrounds it,
and even in reaching for it,
one is easily mistaken as to where it actually lay.
And all the time it balances precariously,
moving in the wind,
unmoved and uncaring itself as to it's plight,
for it is what it is,
which is
a beautiful
black
rose.

Maybe that explains everything,
or nothing.

Why is it I always
want
to
play
with
the broken toys?

Don't worry - i'll be back soon with more froth.......