My Rose

This is my rose,

Pure and white,

My sweet pure rose,

Now blood red with mysteries,

It grows,

As does my heart grow,

My wondrous menstrual rose,

Now old, withered and black,

The color of death and rebirth,

My once innocent rose,

Does no more give seeds,

No new roses will grow,

Wise and old, my sweet rose,

As it dies, so do I,

The tempting rose sits still,

And we pass life on as, slowly,

Our mountain crumbles.

Copyright © 2010 by

Atirah Jewel