This is NOT a rose. I walked past these flowers on the way home from piano yesterday (ended up chatting with my teacher about SPM results and many other things, and never touched the piano in the end!).
Inspired, I wrote the following poem (sans later edits) while I was giving tuition in the evening:
Rose Garden
Silence creeps upon the grass
Like a shadow whose light passes
Through the soul when the night is cold.
Prickly, thorny, pierce my heart;
Stabbed and shattered into prismic shards
My body bleeds, my life feeds
On death, for decay becomes me.
When the plate is empty
And the cup dried up
I wither into winter without end.
Drowning in the dew of life
Dripping each morn on a man long gone
Whom roses do not bloom to greet
But fall by petals at the feet
Of the observer, who wraithlike
Disappears into the silence
Of this hollowest of nights.
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