The man and the rose

In a world long gone,
there used to be a man, perfectly unhappy
he lived his life miserably and wondered why is it so crappy.

Hiding in his hutch, he despised love,
for cursed he was, anything that he adored would shatter by his care and love.

One day he found a rose,
gentle and lost in its world 'twas.
Afraid of his cursed touch, not to go close he chose.

He couldn't pluck the rose and make it his,
he couldn't let anybody else pluck and make it theirs.
The man wondered to hurt the rose
if he gets too close.

Afraid he was of himself, and the monster inside him,
Yet aware of this, gentle rose accepted the little man who used to always stay grim.
for light in the eyes of the man, now felt less dim.

She pitied the man and admired his knowledge.

He couldn't help but treat her as her own,
the rose couldn't help but give in
going along with him into the unknown.

The man touches the rose,
lost in her presence.
Knowing what was about to come all she had was acquiescence.

Nothing ever lasts forever,
Worst dreams came true,
All hope that it would be never,
was crushed when out came the monster.

Thorns died,
Petals died,
Rose died,
as if she was never by his side.

All left was a hole,
a perfect dark hole
inside the perfectly unhappy man.

The vase was broken,
he cursed himself,
he cursed his care and his love, for it took the very same thing he adored

He grimly places her memories on a shelf,
along with other endless reminiscent of flowers, all gentle, all gone forever...