The rose.

A simple flower.
A sign of love
given once and twice
to those for whom you care.

A white.
Love, pure and sweet
the kind you send
to someone's heart.

A red.
The passionate one.
A color so deep
for a lover you send
to quicken heart's beat.

A pink.
The romantic one.
A love that lasts
through all storms.

The Black.
The flower of love,
the love that's gone,
to show the empty void
where a heart's love had lived.

Mine, the Black.
I love it still
its emptiness holds me
enveloped in void.
My love has been
again, 'tis gone.
To love once more
shalt never be
for a desolate soul as me.

To love again
it lasts not
then 'tis shallow and thin.
I cannot be loved
and shant be again
I am the Black
and its Darkling Void.
There can be no light
within my life.
My night is complete
and like my heart,
I am the Black.
The Black.
A Rose. . .