In it lies the world’s sorrow,
Sorrow that figures from death,
Death that glooms today and tomorrow,
In this dying orb of life called earth,
When it accompanies one to the afterlife,
It carries the burden of mourning,
Mourning reminiscing one loved,
Loved one taken by life’s inevitable end,
An end decided by the world’s cruel order,
Oh, black rose, daughter of the night,
How you’ve been dragged in a pool of the world’s scorn,
And yet still bloom proudly pretty
To the same world that follows you with despair,
They’ve decided, blind to your beautiful coloured black,
That you are with darkness
That they fail to see the beauty in those petals,
That know the tears of pain, suffering and futility,
The strength of your thorny stems to hold the ink
Of your symbolised perception,
The shaded crimson velvet pride colours your true nature,
To usher one into yet another existence of beginning.