A rose, flush loose petals,
Reaching towards the light.
A gentle breeze dances
Across her leafy blight.
Fiber by fiber torn away,
Dwindled by a standard.
One so carefully instilled,
With every whispered word.
No longer in touch,
With what is natural,
Blinded by hatred,
And far from factual.
Wilted by the cold,
From life to sickness,
She cries for love,
But still must suppress.
For if the world heard,
Such sweetness in a voice,
She’d be uprooted,
Without having a choice.
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