The black rose of Death

Someday we shall all walk on the path,
That reveals all the things we use to have,
That reminds us of every single mistake
And of all that happiness that we use to fake…

That time seems so far and yet so close…though
When it shall really come we cannot know.
The ones that hurt, sometimes, wish for it to be near,
Others, covered in bliss, think of that time with fear…

Life for some…is like a rose…
So beautiful it seems to those
That have the things that they desire,
That score each day higher and higher…

For the ones that hurt… and are torn apart,
The rose turns black like their broken heart…
Life then seems not such a life,
But more like a drag, which you can end with a knife…

Here, we all make mistakes and then regret,
We wish to have the love we never felt
And want to get lost in a deep pool of peace,
To break free and finally find our release…

And still some day, our death will come,
Graves with red roses for some
And black ones for those,
That have always hurt, but of which no one knows…