The Black Rose Poem by Natalie Marshall

Black as night
with shades of grey,
thorns so sharp
its pointless to say.
Flower of death
the black rose is
surely the white rose
will end all this?
The thorns prick me
and i start to bleed.
The blood keeps flowing,
for it to stop is what i plead.
A dropp of blood
falls to the rose.
Like a raging river
as it flows.
The black rose
is turning white
as blood mean you're living,
trying to find the light.