the rose

[cameramike]

wrote this for my english class, though i'd post it here

There on the table sits the rose whose petals
resemble that of blood, but with the aroma
of a summer morning. As the sun sets
the blood runs from the petals;

and the hint of summer diffuses
as the flower fades to nothing;
fades to that of a dandelion.
And is soon followed by yet another.

The droplets look so perfect once again
as they sit atop the slender petals
as the sun rises upon that day
unsure of what is in it’s future

It sits there so pure, yet so unaware
of its vile outcome. It should be a crime
that one can be so unsure and yet
we allow it to do so time after time.

actually wrote it having nothing to do with a rose, but thats the great thing about creative writing