A clock whose hands are stopped and broken,
frozen by beauty and pain; yin and yang.

A beautiful rose in a dreary meadow,
dark crimson in a wave of dull green.

Covered in thorns laced with poison,
sharpened by years of bitter resentment.

Beauty in bitterness, life in death;
eternal joy in unending sorrow.

A rose stained crimson with regret,
scarred by past lies and betrayals.

Beauty overcome by ignorance,
thorns overrun with pain.

Always a streak of crimson in an ocean of grey,
the candle that lights solid darkness.

Mistreated and forgotten, shy and quiet,
wrongly left alone and abused.

Soaking in the rain, salty tears of bitterness,
rain drops washed away in such kindness.

Names are just words, meaningless attachments,
easily twisted and manipulated to meet needs.

What really matters is the beauty inside,
the light that never fails to brighten every day's darkness.