The rose,
It trusts the sun,
It needs the rain,
It flourishes,
But not like all the others,
It’s black.
Death in its very core.
The rose,
The only thing that helps it is the dirt,
And even that is not enough.
The dirt,
It loves the rose,
No matter what color he is.
But the rose,
it hates itself,
it hates the sun,
and hates the rain,
it needs them,
But the sun never rises,
and the clouds never cover the stars.
The stars,
they also help the rose.
the rose watches them throughout its entire existence,
and the rose wishes he were a star,
then all he would need was time and space.
But its stuck with the sun and the rain,
those things that don't need it,
don't want the rose at all.
and the rose cries tears of petals,
as it withers away.
its leaves shrivel,
and the rose looks up at the stars,
and down at the dirt,
and wishes he had just one sunny day.
but then he looks up and the sun is there,
shining in his face,
and the rain is pouring down on him.
the stars had disappeared,
and the dirt was now all mud,
but the rose said good-bye to both of them,
his tears of petals were going away.
And then he realized,
that the sun and the rain were there at the same time,
and that was impossible.
He looked up once more,
and watched the suns rays try to scorch the clouds.
and the rain tried to put the ball of fire out.
The sun melted away,
and the rain stopped,
and the rose understood.
As much as he needed them,
they were only there to fight with each other.
And the mud dried up and went back to dirt,
and the stars came back,
and the rose realized what it had had all along.
The rose accepted his color,
and the petals too stopped falling.
the dirt cradled at his roots,
as the petals came back,
and the stars faced him and winked.
as the leaves flourished.
and the rose finally realized,
that he never really had the sun or the rain at all,
but he had had the dirt and the stars.
and he looked down at himself and finally realized,
why God had made him the Black Rose.
