Even the Purest Roses Wilt

Lies now root where once truth bloomed,
Lying heaving and forsaken in foggy gloom,
Dark with deception, yet light with ease,
Blowing sadly in still breeze.

Awaiting the return of incandesced snare,
Greeting beauty to strip it bare,
Off guard and dreary, quicken the pace,
Mask the remains of a contorted face.

Sentiment seeps across the ground,
Diminishing cracks yet to be found,
A false idea of two perhaps?
But it, not I, chose collapse.

Unappointed tho, the merriment of guilt,
But even the purest of roses wilt.

© Christie 2007

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This is a dark poem, not always meant to be understood. If this is beyond your comprehension, feel free to message me and i will explain. =) Sometimes its just better to write a poem that not everyone will understand.

Please rate and comment, much appreciated and always returned. =D