A rose in the garden
grows ever sweeter.
Lovely white petals
soften a thorny demeanor.
Though twinkling between twilights
its pale beauty casts gloom;
a baneful silk shadow
by light of the moon.
Safe in the small hours,
but deadly at dawn:
the buds draw in,
the thorns begin to yawn.
If stung in the light
there's no time to feel sick.
The petals glow red
as blood from the prick.
Forget your family, your life, and your friends.
Off to a new garden
you roam to make amends.
To his mistress, the moon,
the rose does take.
Another stranger - a sacrifice -
for his mistake.
You won't wonder or think.
Your mind has gone.
As you lie and wait
for the last light has shone.
When daylight has faded;
now covered in dirt.
You twist and tangle
as stems with white flowers,
from your skin,
begin to spurt.
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