Roses, Red Roses

The prettiest of roses,

With petals painted red.

Dripped and dropped and tainted so,

By open wounds that bled

Opened fresh, right at the heart,

It bleeds straight from the soul.

Colored crimson, drenched in passion,

With a fragrance, graceful and bold.

Blood of sadness and blood of pain,

Of loves once hopeful, lost.

Delicate roses, they’re tainted red.

Beauty, at such a great cost