Stillness of the musty air entombed…
Death vents no last breaths here…
My ghostly presence alone is
chilling the air around –
So, the Gothic rose
grew in the lightless chill
of my dark aura…
chilling its beating soul.
The cold of my tomb
keeps these rose petals parted
and ready with black eyes
to notice my wandering ghost.
The shadows within this tomb
curl and morph as I pace slowly…
The Gothic rose, which sprouted
from beneath the crevice of this tomb…
Possesses shadows herself
which bends once in my presence.
I curse the stone walls!
I curse the lone bluish light of twilight…
Something the lone crimson candle within
could never chase away with flame.
Oh, the brave Gothic rose lit in crimson!
And the blue twilight of my reality.









