The Blackest Rose...

PTSD

Any who dare

To inhale the fragrance

Of the blackest rose

Should take a warning from me

You cannot tame

Its viney thorns that grow...

Jagged and sharp

And dangerous with woe

They will pull you in...

Entangle you in their clasp

They will make you cry

And they will make you gasp

Contained in its vines

Are poisons…very…very strong

All that was ever right

Will seem to be wrong

It will rob you of sleep

And cause you to weep

Beware the warning signs

That spreads beyond the rose

Take it from one who knows

Who has observed it as it grows

© August 14 2009

Faye Sizemore