Story Of a Black Rose

I received a black rose
on a sweet Valentine's morn.
As I stared into the blossom,
it dragged me into a past
of mystery that was forgotten.
It told me of a day
death stole the sweet love
of a teenager's heart.

Blood stained a creek
that ran by a cottage.
A scream in the distance,
a lover's day stripped
of joy and happiness.
A girl covered with blood,
white tee and jeans ripped,
pale as the moon,
runs like the wind
through an evergreen forest.
She trips,
but gets up fast
to run faster then ever.
She reaches the cottage;
she stops at the door
and looks around nervously.
She looks as if searching,
searching and listening.
She opens the rusty door
and steps inside...
A scream of sheer terror
echoes through the forest.
Then silence.
Nothing more.

Six teenagers disappear
in the woods.
Parents puzzled,
mothers weeping,
father angry with themselves.
No one would ever know the truth
except a black rose bush,
watered by blood,
the only witness
to a gruesome crime
that happened
one Valentine's morn.