The Pink Rose

Here's the first of many poems to come. I wrote this one today actually!! All the poems here are original works (unless otherwise stipulated) so enjoy =)

The pink rose, pinker than the sunset sky, fell, fell onto the ground. One petal, two, three. The pink rose on the floor in pieces, in petals. And the pink would turn to brown, and to grey, and to ash in the fire. And they smelled like pink, felt like pink as they slipped through his fingers into oblivion. The thorns would prick through the fire, prick through the fire. Red hot like spilled blood, like shed tears and wasted years, and the colour of love. But, young love. Pink, like the rose, like the petals that fell, and fall that by any other name would have smelled as sweet, burned as bright, and the thorns would still prick and make bleed.

08/01/2013