The Black Rose
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.
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
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,
Maybe that explains everything,
Why is it I always
the broken toys?
Don't worry - i'll be back soon with more froth.......