Poetry

One single rose has showed up at the door,
Yet not one more thing to be seen,
I knew it wasn't a dream.

I stormed out into the street,
But something was fumbling under my feet,
It was the Rose of Revenge that dropped from my hand,
I scooped it up and rushed through the sand.
Though I ran as fast as I could,
I still smelled ashes and soot.

I looked through a house,
Around and about,
But someone was here without a doubt.
Then someone rose from the floor and hit the door,
He was dieing but trying to survive with too many sores.
I wanted to help but I knew who he was so I stood my ground.

He landed on the ground with a thud,
Yet, there was no blood.
I threw the Rose of Revenge on his chest,
Because certainly he was no guest.