Kiss
of the Black Rose
Maddening in its
starkness,
I stared at an immense,
darkly ornate door,
deathly afraid to
push it open and reveal what was inside.
Frightened at what
might be in store,
going from salvation's
light to wicked darkness,
my manic thoughts
cried out from beyond the graveside.
Yet push in
the door I did.
With an ominous
groan that rang
throughout the empty
corridors of my existence,
I peered into screaming
shadows before I slid
within, the angry
door slamming shut with a bang.
My anxious heart
pounding madly with foreboding resistance.
In the center of
the room stood a monstrous table,
a long, desolate,
silent slab of wood
over which a lonely
light bulb cast its eerie glow.
Slowly I stepped
forward, barely unable
to stop my nervous
hands from shaking, aware I would
be too unstable
to reach for a hushed, black rose.
For I could see,
lying upon this austere surface,
fifteen black roses
which seemed to breathe
with a vibrant resonance
all their own.
There was one in
particular that cried
out my name, incredibly
seeming to seethe
with the plangent
chime of a prognostic metronome.
My fingertips caressed
one of the beautiful, black flowers.
Suddenly it jumped
onto my palm, anxious skin ablaze,
my startled eyes
squeezing shut in pain.
A sharp, angry,
lacerating shaft of light devoured
all my fears, incinerating
shattered yesterdays
Then the rose whispered
your name.
In shock, I backed
against the door in fear.
A mist appeared
from shadows that held your eyes,
then your face,
and seconds later, your arms reachng for me.
I stared down at
the rose and saw one tear.
"Worry not, for
you will be together again," it sighed.
You smiled, as your
vision faded,
my heart beating
thankfully.
Quietly I left the
room to its stunning silence,
for upon the table still rested fourteen black roses,
forever awaiting
your compliance.
(c) Kerry Marzock
