Gestures of wounds, my dark life unfound so bound in the shadows of grey mists <br />Treasures of pure gentleness, sounds so well curbed deeply within the black roses <br />Slaving dreams in voyages of my infinite joy, and all my thoughts shattering in my close sight. <br />My core being in agony, seeds of my peevish wisdom and all my laid scattered visions <br />Breaking thoughts of my forever sadness, valleys of pain and domes of dizziness and confusions <br />Spreading speeds of my emptiness, and fading nights of my judgment in my own wars and fray. <br />These all remind me of black roses that flew and died of desire within the wise verses of profound prose. <br />These modify and mold this day of termination of black roots, the day of red roses and new beginnings.<br /><br />Sicelo Sithole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-roses-10/
