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The Gothic Rose Which Grew In My Tomb

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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.

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