Once what was pure now tarnished by demonic hands,
What ties you back are rope bands.

Dark dew drop form at the end of petals,
Light souls turn hard and cold as metals.

Crimson aborts its host and all color fades,
Then the black invades.

Its black satin petals stained cherry,
To see such a thing only Lusifer would be merry.

Its elegance gleams for quite some time,
But even  it gives way to ryhme,
As it does it loses its shine.

Soiled by sin's wit,
I must omit.

That Romanian  rose,
Like every other possesed thing, erode

What once was simply lovely is now chaotic elogence.