A single black rose dies.
The wilting petals
Wither and fall to the cold harsh ground.
The stem placed on the belly
Of the sacrifice,
And judgement is passed.
The naked body
Of the pillar of stone is prepared.
Does she die for nothing?
The air is still
And the blade is sharp,
But can it cut her?
She is pure of heart and soul
And is blinded to the rest of the world,
But does the flower
Cleanse her?
As the petals decay
And the stem hardens,
She still lives.
Can they cut her?