There are black roses in my garden
growing in the very back.
When I watch, my thoughts go far, then
my mind is clear, my mind is set.
And while my roses grow and thrive,
while my thoughts don't rest at night,
I am sitting motionless
and I crave for sweet caress.
Desires which were long-forgotten
I recognize in roses' dew.
My roses, I will always care for
because I only have a few.
I close my eyes in reverend silence.
I'm waiting for the dream come true.
I can hear a saddening cry, whence
it comes from, I have no clue.
If my roses had voices
they would sound like that -
Filled to the brim with tenderness,
but somehow saddening, more or less
like a carcass motionless -
I wouldn't cease loving my black roses.
Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Norman Möschter.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 12.06.2014.