07-07-2010, 06:14 PM
The Wise Rose
Black on black, unseen, unknown,
Growing in a garden lone,
Seeking out a crypt of bone
And silent in its seeming.
A simple rose it saw below,
A beauty it had yet to know,
Reminding of a land of snow
With blood upon it gleaming.
And seized by jealous apathy,
The blackness lingered by the tree
To watch the rose so silently—
It dreamed forlorn and bitter.
The rose, it told of many things;
The symbol of what loving brings,
A flower to be given wings
Or borne upon a litter.
The blackness, held in wonder’s thrall,
Implored the rose to tell it all,
But no more answered blackness’ call
The rose, in wisdom blooming.
In vain the darkness pled and cried
Only to find the rose had died—
Nor may a rose forever bide,
But fade into the glooming.
And so the darkness goes it way,
Bereft of reason there to stay,
And nowhere to its burdens lay,
Nor ever solace finding.
The black-on-black forever flows,
A soul that only torment knows.
It seeks the wisdom of the rose
To lose it from its binding.
AEB 2004
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Waiting
Pushing back the darkness and drinking from the well;
I’m locked inside my slumber and laughing in my hell.
Hiding from the madness and striving to become—
Making love to vengeance—and waiting to be numb.
Grasping at a purpose, searching for a prayer;
Hearing vacant echoes, the shadows of despair.
Hoping to endure it and giving it my all,
Reaching for forgiveness—and waiting for the fall.
Seeing death around me, living it each day;
Weathering the hardships through hope to fall away,
Still I keep on breathing, seeking to transcend;
Endlessly decaying—and waiting for the end.
AEB 2006
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