Growth Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

</>An essence defined by a play on words.
A metaphor defined as proper.
The holy and bright.
A guidance upon ones sight.
Can we not see with out it.
Are our voices silenced once it is gone.
As in the grimly awful death.
A collage sits upon this mess.
In the right order one might have success.
From one writing to the next.
Forever stirred in portions large and small.
An emotion splattered upon the page in all red.
And as this rose grows, the green appears in the shape of a stem and thorn.
It came out of no where.
It was of the unborn.
Below the earth eating reserves to escape towards the light.