The Struggle Of A Soul

The rose of red lays beneath,
the darkened colors of the beast.

It's buried in snow,
but it still remains whole.

The beauty petals red and riped,
is frozen and despised.

Nobody cares for the little rose of red,
or all the tears of blood it has shed.

With no strength left to resist,
it disappears in a foggy mist.

As the rose of red has drowned,
emerges the rose of black at dawn.