How quickly passions rise.
Jealousy turns to obsession,
merging with rage's magma rush.
No experiences to control urges,
hatred twists new born love
into threatened violence.

 

No more do they woo sweetly
when competing for the hand
of the beauteous maid.
Never more is dark crimson
the fairest of roses,
sweet with heady perfume.

 

For now it gleams wetly,
a rose scarlet pool,
pumped from wounds
slashed critically deep
in a youthful heart.

 

 

©2005 dma