Edgar Allan Poe

OH! the blood drawn
The color of Red in thy light of dawn
how our everlastings go to eternity
continuing- as it has for me
A symbol for something more fine
growing more beautiful in time

Thy thorns of a Rose
from the cold ground it arose
Our love simply divine
Love! Simply more than mine
Tho’ glad one has thorns
for hardship mourns
Each touch of a thorn in despair
Each petal we share

Words formed like a rosebud
Actions scorched by blood
Petals are delicate ones
Poignant-they may crumb
Picking petals off our stem
in a failed attempt to feel whole again

Will compassion ever arrive again
Tho’ blind with feign
As a rose needs water
For us- thy was falter

Thy Rose bent gently towards its warmth
then passes beyond to the other side-no longer orth
When thy Rose is dead
hope turns to dread
Only thing left is thy blood drawn
Another will be reborn-coming by morning dawn

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