A Rose In Dystopia

A little poem I wrote describing my feelings for someone.

An illustrious rose she arose from fields dystopian.
Concrete tapestries a gallery of desecrated art.
She enchant a soured dream,
willing colour on a scene
tainted monochrome.
She's the passion in the weaving of fine art
effused across my canvas.
Nexus that binds together delicate prose,
sole reason words morph effortless.
Energy tantamount to a thousand suns
and a gleam just as potent.
Thievery at play, usurped my heart;
embezzled like colonial gold,
hauled from the shipwreck of me.