Never having come to a conclusion...I tried to find a way through it....as always....I never found my answer.

I gift you with my poem, my soul....The Rose.

The rose sitting,
at the edge of a militant river,
feels her aura dripping,
and cuts her thighs with silver,
wire.

Could you be that rose?
sitting, watch wait there,
doodling your prose,
in status so morose?
hurts.

Would you kiss that rose?
covered by mud,
hiding under the sun,
in all my sorrow,
pain.

Evermore the rose will scream,
in anguish white.I cannot feel,
my soul tonight?
breathed.

The rose is ever,
torment stilled,
aura existing against her will,
and ever more be still my heart,
the thorns know how to play,
thier part.
from.

Possesion is the roses bloom,
and it stares crying at the moon,
to never love her, one, true friend,
and join her realm,
within the end,
my.

Never again will this rose cry,
never will you know its scorn,
i know that you will always try,
but tell me when you die.
soul.