***PMWS Notes

Picked from a stem, his destiny set

Beauty desired but short before death

Though death been determined, his fate and his fall

His happiest hour befell on them all


Needles and shoelaces, needles and thorns

Need needles to sew up their broken hearts torn

And needles to stich up the city they live in

The city of thorns from captors unforgiven


His highness, his finest, 'twas you that he'd chosen

Never figured his selfishness faced apprehension

Uprooting your growth just to feed his delusions

His usual plan failed to forecast Hell's demons


And so it is written, he guiltily pleaded

When withered and empty he found you defeated

Great fear in his eyes, he thought no one had noticed

He pulled up his collar, his stare remained focused


But lonely behind him, a crow on his perch

Sat silent in solitude, watched, and observed

Never making a call or ruffling a feather

He patiently waited for fate's somber weather


Picked from the stem but to bloom and to fade

A memory passes but story remains

And every so often, the crow finds a flower

And leaves it to rot on the basis of power


A Rose from the ground to a Rose on the grave,

A Rose is a Rose regardless of place; 

A Rose sleeping comfortable, warm in his bed,

A Rose is a Rose, for lest thou forget.

◄ Ode

Its My Turn Now ►


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