A Rose

Its petals,

Are silk against my fingertips.

Its leaves,

Sandpaper against my palms.

The grass,

Wet with sparkling diamonds.

Underground the roots,

Twisting with each other as ropes do.

Silhouetted by the sun,

A distant fire blazing a glistening halo around it.

Its shadow,

A monster about to eat you up.

Its petals,

Once painted with blood.

Now turning into dried bread.

Its leaves,

Once bouncy as a pogo stick.

Now tired and dreary about to go to bed.

Silhouetted by the sun,

Once was blazing,

Now only glowing embers.

Its shadow,

Once a raging monster,

Now only a weak old man.

Its body,

Once stiff as a board,

Now limp as cloth.

Its falls,

Gracefully to ground,

Soft as a snow falls.