Black Rose
In the devoid abyss
sits a withering flower,
whose petals fall and fade.
The static only growing louder.

With every life born,
a petal is bred anew.
Overflowing potential,
chances so very few.

With every life wasted,
it grows another thorn.
Harnessing and feeling
the heart being torn.

It welcomes another
to the dream domain,
attempting to restore
what couldn't be sustained.

Another tortured soul
continues the chain
of misery and heartbreak,
desolation and pain.

With every heart shattered,
another petal goes to hell,
its dark hue drowned out.
There it will forever dwell.

The flower, like us,
slowing but surely dying out.
Its coal colours begin to grey,
victim to the inevitable drought.

The vacant yet deafening hum
of the unending void,
a clear reminder of all that's lived
and all that's been destroyed.

In the dark and foreboding place
where aspirations and dreams die,
sits a rose, as bright as the sun,
and as black as the night sky.

© Mustafa Khan 2007