by Arthur Blake
i just saw a picture of blood on a white flower and this is what i made from it
|The petals soft and colorless,|
curving and bending,
like folded paper that isn't yet creased.
The crimson droplets make pureness cease,
streaming down the flower,
those perfect bleached petals.
The red appearing ever darker than when in the dermis,
as it crawls along that snow white surface,
painting it in a way.
some may argue it's glory has been tainted,
possibly even deafened.
However my words must argue the beauty cannot be lessened.
With my own eyes I have seen the bloodied white rose
And I find the flowers appearance all the more pleasing,
for the plant has been demanding blood
with those flesh piercing thorns along the stud.
It's plenty fitting that at last,
blood has been granted.
The white flower is beautiful as is,
but only reaches magnificence
when given it's red tears.