The Petal of Lifes Rose
He sits alone as is world has ended
Why does he not cry as his time was bended
He saved a child from the clutch of intended
Now he will mend what he has not pretended
As the flow of his tears climb in slow motion
Down his cheek of scars and constant devotion
His wisdom no longer alive with his potion
Of constant rage and loveless emotion
He picks the petals of the flower of life
Down to the last as though it was a knife
As he slits his tender wrists with strife
With the last of the petal persuing the wife
For his last breath comes with uncertain
The light that shone bright now behind a curtain
His eyes close with all intention
As the petal of life no longer distinction
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