Emergence from the evening darkness
Under crescent moons that labor
Stars that glitter in eons of time
In the ether of continual flux it thrives
Yet the single crimson rose survives
As the only thing of beauty
In a world of monochrome
Amidst multitudes of fauna
That cannot answer back
Unable to return such compliments
From whence the horizon begins or ends
Regardless of the crimson rose
In messages it sends
It stands in solitude momentarily
In the flora which it offends
~Moses~
© 2010 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
1 comment:
thats a fighter rose then
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