Mirage
A futurist virginity in black rose
was seeking posthumous award
for immoral kisses of thorns.
Unaware of lethal thighs
skipping the lunar landscape
at night.
Were you going to leap over
the mountains curling across the glaciers
of white pain?
I will extend the shadow
of infinite truth,
when we talk about the half-death
of unborn hunger.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A rose I am no more
If roses are the colors pink, red, yellow & white,
What happens if my rose is the color of black.
If all roses have their thorns,
What happens if my rose has lost its thorns.
If a rose that has no color & no thorns is no longer a rose,
Then a rose of color & thorns I am no more.
A rose I am no more, A rose I am no more.
poem by Beating Tree
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Black Rose
A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart…
A black rose brings the scent of death as it tears love apart…
A black rose makes nightmares reality…
A black rose fills my life with uncertainty…
A black rose is forgotten hopes and dreams…
A black rose is a broken girl laying in tears and painful screams…
A black rose is the pain of a shattered life…
A black rose is lost love in my hopeless life…
A black rose is the memories that haunt my restless soul…
A black rose took everything from me that once made me whole…
Including…you…
Death Was Pure
When moon will wash my doors
I will come out in night
to find you in dark
and lose you in light.
Does it resonate with you
O my truth
O my pain
time has moved back.
My love whitens the shadow
of a black rose in the nakedness of waking.
Do not want to disappoint the sun
and enter into a grain.
I am the stillness and I am
the noise. Motherless I am born
in black water
of immaculate death.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rose With Thorns
The rose with thorns
Beautiful passion red rose
But dangerous with thorns
Picked off the garden
By a bard on
Realize he was bleeding
Thought roughly about his feelings
About why the rose had thorns
Never again would he pick up the red rose with thorns
The rose only brought him pain
Thoe he did not go insane
By wanting to stomp on it
But he just forfeit on it
He just let the rose there on the ground
And the rose was hoping it would be found
So the bard on
Left the garden
Checked his finger with the thorn pulled it out
finger was bleeding and never looked back at the rose with the thorns
poem by Jose antonio Torres galeana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The BLACK ROSE
I've kissed the petal of the black rose as the morning dew blushed its black hue. I felt a passion beyond anything I knew, a flame, a fire, a burning desire for the black rose its petals to unfold, its beauty to behold. Your Love had me entangled upon your vine I dangled, Chained to the black rose petals I wrangled. Upon your bed in the early dew I found a colored rose petal, another heart that throbbed for you a flame that burned now an amber. Who too had thought you true and kissed the black rose petals blushing hue. Those barbed thorns upon your vine; so sharp; the lies, the deceit, the cheat; they cut, tear, bleed and don't prepare for the hurt they leave. Bold and daunting were you in your haunting. I wanted love but it was my soul you stole. In the ice cold blight of the winter night the black rose had froze. I cried, in the glistening icy snow; for the black rose had no heart to with stand the blight of that winter night. What it had was a cold heart with sharp thorns to enfold, the last cold kiss of death on the black rose shows I have no love to share or hold.
poem by Vanita Allgood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Black Rose
A black rose can stop the beat of ones heart
A black rose bring the scent of death as it tears love apart
A black rose makes nightmares relity
A black rose fills my life with unsertanty
A black rose is forgoten hopes and dream
A black rose is a broken man laying in tears and painful screams
A black rose is the pain of a widowed wife
A black rose is lost love in my hopless life
A black rose is the memorys that haunt my restless soul
A black rose took everthing from me that once made me whole
poem by Glenn McGahan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shades of Grey
Black is the color of the night
Grey is the shadow of you I sight
White is the shirt you wear
Black is your suit I declare
White is the wall you lean against
Grey is our path I sensed
Black is the memory I lost
Black is the road we never crossed
Grey is the prospect of the day
Grey is the taxi driving away
Black is the truth to never find you
Black is everything I can't undo
Black is my room without light
White is my color of hope in spite
Grey is the circle around my heart
Black is the truth like a work of art
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nocturne III
One night
one night all full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings;
one night
in which fantastic fireflies burnt in the humid nuptial shadows,
slowly by my side, pressed altogether close, silent and pale,
as if a presentiment of infinite bitternesses
agitated you unto the most hidden fibers of your being,
along the flowering path which crosses the plain
you walked;
and the full moon
in the infinite and profound blue heavens scattered its white light;
and your shadow,
fine and languid,
and my shadow
projected by the rays of the moon,
upon the sorrowful sands
of the path, joined together;
and they became one,
and they became one,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow,
and they became only one long shadow....
Tonight
alone; my soul
full of the infinite bitternesses and agonies of your death,
separated from you by time, by the tomb and by distance,
by the infinite blackness
where our voice cannot reach,
silent and alone
along the path I walked ...
And the barking of dogs at the moon could be heard,
at the pale moon,
and the chirping
of the frogs ...
I felt cold. It was the coldness that in your alcove
your cheeks and your temples and your adoréd hands possessed
within the snowy whiteness
of the mortuary sheets.
It was the coldness of the sepulcher, it was the ice of death,
it was the coldness of oblivion.
And my shadow,
projected by the rays of the moon,
walked alone,
walked alone,
walked alone along the solitary plain;
and your shadow, svelte and agile,
fine and languid,
as in that warm night of springtime death,
as in that night full of murmurings, of perfumes and music of wings,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine,
approached and walked with mine ... Oh, the shadows intertwined!
Oh, the corporeal shadows united with the shadows of the souls!
Oh, the seeking shadows in those nights of sorrows and of tears!
poem by Jose Asuncion Silva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lake Louise
Bluer than Helen's eyes she lies
Under the blue cloud-drifting skies;
A daughter fair of light and air
Dropped among warrior mountains there.
White glaciers kiss her feet so fleet—
Oh fugitive, too rare and sweet!
Will she not fling them off that cling,
And rise, a bluebird on the wing?
Will she not rise and stray away,
A blue gleam on the brow of day?
Look—still she stays, and bright, snow-white,
The glaciers guard her day and night!
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Deserted Wasteland
Life invades the truth.
Who cares?
The night was thin,
my eyes will search for stars.
Now pain travels,
backward from a smile?
A myth unfolds the terror,
of infinite tomorrows,
an escape from the eternity?
We will die,
only in our separate truths,
united by untruths.
Picking our poisonous arrows,
worshipping our griefs,
an invisible hand unclothes our past.
I ask myself was it the spectre,
fear of extinction?
Death will not shout,
it comes quietly.
Death by cancer or cirrhosis,
it comes sailing.
We were already dying,
without our clones
like a deserted wasteland,
with lethal seeds.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between Two Centuries
Choice was washing the guilt
or keeping mind shut.
Microscopic deterioration
in the brain had set in.
The monologue of humility
was not relevant for the flame ritual.
They said the death was a dropp of wine.
Immoral alchemy had
broken the enormous myth.
The electrons went crazy,
they orbited like hungry eagles.
Truth was never the same.
Fading age wears new wrinkles,
black on black rose praises the air.
The return of grief, was very evident.
Eyes blinked endlessly,
I too lifted the pleated pain.
Enzyme of new creation
was worthless.
We were walking
into an epic, oscillating
between two centuries.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Grey Areas: Revised
they think and teach you
that black is black and white is white
that either you are moral or immoral
that either you leave or stay
that either you die or live
that there are only choices of
either/or
they tell you do not do this
do not do that
do only this and that
they prohibit you and tell you
it is for your own good
as though they are gods
and you are the dogs
an old man with bright eyes
asks me to go near him
and he says: try the middle of things
it is not just black or white but
there are shades and shades of choices
in between
in there everything is allowed.
the grey areas. the exceptions. the exemptions.
try them. they are all exciting. like the colors of the rainbow
like the patches of red, and orange and blue and pink
you see, who is telling you that there are no other colors
than black and white?
i am neither good nor bad.
In truth, i am just myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Post
Somehow,
I found myself lost in a familiar landscape
that suddenly appeared alien and heavenly—
white
in the absence
of however death felt—
and I was hunting for time in hypertext.
Unaware was I
of the scope of my distraction,
following the skimmed passages
of half-fact with half a half-life,
decaying in the brief tapping
of each second's slovenly click.
I was tapered
to the staccato immersion,
collecting the rifled, jutted,
haphazardly dispensed pornography
of Information—
flooding
forth,
disjointed, overlapping bursts
bustling over each other,
skittering
the shrapnel of thought.
All separated.
All eroded—
the paradigms
which once felt stead,
linear—
as if narrative
could calm and concentrate
the chaos of the world,
controlling what is out of control—
that which can control.
I find my eyes tipping,
rebounding up,
my pupils dilating, utter
FOCUS
perturbing the plastic warps
and elastic renegotiations
of what was once
THE
MIND.
I find my eyes skipping
over paraphrases of
of paraphrases, scanning for
pertinence, connecting the
the ever-scrambled dots, ,
repeating them to myself
until they make
sense…
Somehow,
consciousness composed itself
by stripping itself of itself.
Somehow.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Rose Amidst the thorns
Roses in profusion
bloomed along our garden wall.
They were both red and yellow-
tea hybrids, I recall.
There were thorns too,
as I well knew,
standing guard among the blooms.
A careless creature soon would learn
to give the rose wide berth
An agony of thorns awaits
the careless of the earth.
Yet thorns permit the bees to come
and pollen to transpose.
and, if careful, they'll admit
my own scent seeking nose
I think thorns serve their purpose well
else roses would be trampled
The thorns are roses' guardians
and not inconsequential.
Without a thorn, the rose, forlorn,
is destined for the ashes.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Grey Areas
they think and teach you
that black is black and white is white
that either you are moral or immoral
that either you leave or stay
that either you die or leave
that there are only choices of either/or
they tell you do not do this
do not do that
they prohibit you and tell you
it is for your own good
as though they are gods
and you are the dogs
an old man with bright eyes
asked me to go near him
and he says: try the middle of things
it is not just black or white but there are shades and shades of choices
in there everything is allowed.
the grey areas. the exceptions. the exemptions.
try them. they are all exciting. like the colors of the rainbow
like the patches of red, and orange and blue and pink
you see, who is telling you that there are no other colors
than black and white?
i am neither good nor bad. In truth, i am just myself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Boyes answer to the Blackmoor
Black Maid, complain not that I fly,
When Fate commands Antipathy:
Prodigious might that union prove,
Where Night and Day together move,
And the conjunction of our lips
Not kisses make, but an Eclipse;
In which the mixed black and white
Portends more terrour than delight.
Yet if my shadow thou wilt be,
Enjoy thy dearest wish: But see
Thou take my shadowes property,
That hastes away when I come nigh:
Else stay till death hath blinded mee,
And then I will bequeath my self to thee.
poem by Henry King
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Blue Rose
A red rose for love,
My red rose for luck.
The black rose on my bed,
For my death and for yours.
Red rose for the blood
That drips off my finger.
Black for the hate
The swells in my heart.
Pink for the joy,
The wonder of the world.
White for the pure,
Thats very far from me.
Yellow for the sunshine,
That lightens up our day.
Red for the heart,
That crumbled in my chest.
Black for the grave,
That I will be in after death.
Red, black, red, black.
Yellow, pink, blue
For my soul I leave.
Blue for me to wander.
Blue for the ocean,
And for my soul we share.
poem by Brianna Wilshusen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Rose To Remember....
i am reading about the death of a rose
i am reflecting about
death of freedom
it is all about a rose, a wilting rose, a brown rose,
a dry rose
each petal falling softly on the ground
a dry ground full of sand and pebbles
all footprints covered
abandoned, i am talking
about the death of a rose, the death of the freedom of the rose
the death of freedom, the rose of death, the freedom of death,
is it you now that i talk about? that i must remember?
have i met you before when i was but a thorn, a worm, a leaf?
was i the sand
a pebble, the wind? will you be a rose forever?
is there death in you?
i feel the wind, i smell the rose,
there is no death....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!