True Colours of the Black Rose
It’s strange when you are in bed late at night just lying there and thinking … is this it?
If you stare into the dark for long enough … it stares back…
And then it speaks!
………………. The voice came to me in my dreams.
The stairwell again, desolate, lonely … always the stairwell
Fallen petals of life, strewn across each step,
A lost darkness, a blank canvas, an empty shell,
Like a disillusioned spider attending a broken web,
Only within this darkness do l hear the whispered echoes,
A distant haunting melody caressing my dreams,
Filling my mind like a myriad of emotional geckoes,
Scattering across the lost walls of the unseen,
She appears before me silently and yet so profound,
Her lustre for life imploring discovery,
An illusion of importance delivered with no sound,
The black rose, that is mine, for it can only be me,
Rich In beauty, the absent link, a missing beauty,
Is this the clue, that l have so long searched for,
A blank canvas waiting for colours of inspirational complexity,
The empty church awaiting prayer?
Longing for her petals to again flourish in life,
To regain the tears from forgotten yesterdays,
Rekindling the velvet and fire in her eyes,
Meaning, today is simply tomorrows’ yesterday,
Never step backwards once, but step forwards twice,
Smiles never run away, they simply are shaded,
I miss being kissed there these lonely nights,
Time to replace the lost true colours of the jaded.
© Rory Matier 2012