Black Rose

When a rising star falls,
and the horizon drips with crimson snow,
where is the cloud ridden sky,
where do black flowers grow.

Within the hidden sanctuary,
the angel gently cries,
oceans fill with wander,
the black flower slowly dies.

Lost in a fierce rhythm,
erupting inside the storm,
my one black rose is fading,
her petals neatly torn.

The beauty of her torture,
nature's way of letting go,
her life, the air, surrounds me,
never ending crimson snow.