Roses Poem by Felicity Slaughter

Black roses lay dead at my feet,
the moon is shining a
dismal glow on the hilltop
on which I dwell.

A sad song is swirling around
me, sung by Mother Nature herself
I envy her.
Forever raw and real, always
showing her true face
Never holding back
For me to have done the same would have
granted me a lifetime of criticism.

The Past can not be altered, however.
It is painfully true.

Black roses lay dead at my feet,
the moon is shining a
dismal glow on the hilltop
on which I dwell.

But I wear no shadow.
No one shall see me.

I am nothing more than a ghost.