Rose Requiem

In twilight's hush, where shadows softly fall, A maiden lies, entwined in roses' fatal call. Her form, a canvas of moonlit, porcelain grace, Adorned with blooms that whisper a gentle, dark embrace. The red roses, like rubies, scattered upon her skin, Tell tales of love, of loss, of life locked within. Her eyes, closed to the world, in slumber deep, Dream of secrets kept, and mysteries asleep. The roses, they seem to dance, in macabre delight, A morbid waltz, where petals unfold like the night. In this surreal landscape, she finds her peaceful nest, A world of dreams, where love and sorrow find rest. The roses, a symbol of passion, of life, of death, Envelop her, a shroud, a gentle, loving breath. In this stillness, she is free, her spirit unbound, A fleeting moment, where heart and soul are found. The rose requiem, a lament for love and loss, Echoes through eternity, a haunting, ethereal cross. In the silence, her story unfolds, a tale of might, A testament to love's enduring, ghostly light.