Sorrow
Sinister Roses,
dead on the porch.
A lover to a fighter,
a candle to a torch.
Sweet whispered lies,
about how time flies.
Although we aren't on trial here,
our innocence denied.
Trees blankly stating,
their own accusations,
windowless souls
and heartless dedications.
Through catching the drift,
while being so swift,
and fleeing in a direction all your own.
Time kisses hollow youth.
Death claims uncaring bodies.
But still nothing is said.
And the sun shall rise again.