The Rose

In a luscious over grown green meadow, one early, frosty spring morning there grew a rose. A rose as red as the love that two new lovers share. And bold. Bold as a mighty, brown bear. It was lovely, like the calm before the storm. But its beauty caused pain like a thorn through ones heart. It appeared so heavenly like a statue made of gold, truth be told. The god’s tears fell upon the earth, like a torrential down pour from above, the rose feverously fed off the rain like a rugged cactus without all the strain. The rose bred love like a newborns fate, but it also bred hate, like a felon locked behind the gate. The rose was beautiful to lover’s eyes as if plucked right outta their imagination’s rise. It grew demonic like a crazed rattle snake and made them irate. Irate as bull on a ghoulish rampage. Among its presence, it revealed fool’s lies. It became a master of deception. Not to be seen by careful eyes. The oblivious people, huddled in their own drab world, lost their mind like a patient in the ward. It caused them to see a false perception. As if reflected by a puddle of water. Rippled with the rings of others depression. It seduced its victims like a woman of the night, leaving them blind. Alone in the world without a light. Death...  Destruction… Jealousy… hate… corruption… A lonely, grizzled,  widowed man as old as the rose itself. With grayed hair like the sky of a beach rainy day.  A man who once loved but now lost, laid eyes upon all that had been put to waste. He saw all the destruction. Relating it to his forlorn life. He killed the rose, red and bold the cause of corruption.