The Black Rose - Fire and Thought

Fire slips,
the dark of night,
as we stand,
held so tight,

Each slender flame,
licks a darkened sky,
pointing to the stars,
Angels twinkling on high,

Round and Round,
each step,
crackling beneath
the winds keen whip,
hold your breath,
as the cinders drip,

Now left standing,
a cold dark pit

The Black Rose

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