The Ruined Rose

She was the rose among roses
Tender and young
The attraction of all bees
The delight of the morn
Fragrance of the garden
Her petals fresh and supple

Never did she open her petals for those bees
She blossomed beautifully with the passing of each morn
A rose of a kind
A replica of perfection
A sight to behold
She was everything of a treasure

Until, that sad morn
When he walked sheepishly into the garden
Attracted by her intoxicating fragrance
With a face of a saint, but a heart of the demon
A treacherous smile he wore
He! he who wore the mask
Beguiled sweet rose with his false charm

A happy day it was for him
And a doomsday it was for her
Sweet rose hearts fluttered with joy and love
But! Nay if she had known her fate
She would have cried a sea of tears

He who wore the mask; took sweet rose to his abode
Instead, nurturing her with a tender hand like she was
He nurtured her with a fist of an iron
Recklessly, crudely, aggressively

Oh poor rose lost her supple by each passing morn
Her young heart yondered for her past abode- a peaceful abode it was
She whose petals were fresh and supple
Now turned rough

Poor rose suffered with the ticking of the clock
Till her petals went dry and dead
She lost her intoxicating fragrance-she became stale
Poor rose lost all but her beautiful heart
Till she wilted and died away

Oh poor rose
Is this thy end?

Mariah Ali
1/12/2016

by Mariah Ali

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