Rose

[julevin1]

it’s a rose.

a rose, that represents passion, & love.

it’s petals are ruby red.

the inner sides of them flame up in ash of pollen.

while it’s leaves ablaze green.





white, small flowers surround the rose. 

twisting and curling around its stem,

as if it is a vine.

thin lines, crinkle across the leaves

like a tattoo. 

if I pulled the rose close to my nose,

its aura would come in contact with me.

the smell of clean nature.





a day passed, and the rose was flat.

no volume, no energy.

arising, just the rotten smell of death,

.

the stem was no longer high of life,

it flaked to the side, the petals 

no longer red. as the leaves were no longer seen. 

the spill of mud traveled down through the veins,

out spewed the smell of a concoction.

the leaves were curled up in a fetal position, 

when touched they felt stale, dry,

and the air no longer blew it to life.

it lived through the day, but not through the night.





the rose was just a rose.

it lived, it died.

It had a purpose, until the sunrise.

This poem flowed really well, and had a sombre feel to it. I liked how it didn't need to rhyme in order to do the former(flow well). My only criticism would be that sometimes it seems like a comma would be better than a period. For instance, "...it's petals are ruby red, the inner sides of them flaming up in ash of pollen."