Dark Poetry

Poisoned rose

Dying butterfly,

Why did you drink from the poisoned rose?

With it's crimsom petals reaching for the sky,

It's malice hides and it's beauty shows.

How did you miss it's raw cruelty?

Twisted within it's fragile beatuy?

You didn't use your wit,

But your eyes instead.

The result is your now chained,

To your dying bed.

The poisoned rose shows no remorse,

As your tiny breath grows ragged and hoarse.

The instant your flailing wings,

Fall still on the ground,

The mockingbird begans to sing,

A eerily familiar sound.

A tale of murder woven into a song,

So everyone around,

Will know that you've been wronged.

Dying dove,

What have you done?

You flew straight up,

Right into the sun.

With wings on fire,

Down you fell.

Upon the very same thorns,

That sent the butterfly to hell.

Now you know what the butterfly endured,

Tied down to death,

By the very same cord.

Your breath is stolen too,

By the poisoned rose.

And the mockingbird starts softly,

But his death song slowly grows.

Dying child,

I know why you ate the poisoned rose.

Why your heart is slowing in the wild,

Everybody knows.

The note laying beside you,

In a child's scrawl.

Will send the message of your suicide,

To anyone at all.

With your meager life,

Peace has been restored.

The dove will spread it's wings,

And dead butterflies will be no more.

When your heart stops,

You will end a war.

A war against yourself,

A war against your hate.

A never ending battle,

That surely sealed your fate.

The moonlight illuminates your teenage face,

Shedding light on your agony.

As your heart stops its panicked pace,

Beneath the willow tree.

The mockingbird says nothing of your plight,

It remebers when you planted the dark flower.

On on that bitter winter night.

Now all thats left to do,

Is regret the past.

As the poisoned rose,

Is uprooted at last.