Quietness caresses the Tulips,
the Roses all stand in abstinence,
the colours muted,
their leaves dripping with silence.

The wind's kissing the tears
that are running down my featureless face -
in an ageing body life departs
as death slowly takes it place.

Breath of an Angel,
catching as it sticks in the tide,
crumble does the rotten wall
behind which manipulation hides -

Pursed lips bloodied but clean,
one incarnadine stained soul
so beautifully sanguine

a single Ivory Rose, extracted
from the sweet substance of prayers,

choking and dying,
suffocating in a world that no longer cares,

standing its ground,
silently doing its hidden duty,

failing the infallible
being it's true blackened beauty.