The Dance of the Lovely Blood Rose
The arena lies dead in darkness
Still tonight there’s time for one last show
The lights stutter on
In a line one by one
In a rink where no-ones at home
There stood in the centre our Rose bathed in red
A costume that consumes from head to toe
Her expression of pain and misery lost in vein
To the sound of a tortured mans soul
As his music kicks in Rose breaks cross the ice
A deathly vision of beauty seldom seen
Carving with grace her tracks crimson laced
As the blood flows so free from her torso
With a spin of despair and an axle of fear
She dances on with the pain of the world
For on her shoulders she carries all the burdens of those
Who’s shattered dreams born the cuts worn by Blood Rose
As her dance draws to an end the light slowly descends
A crack cuts through the ice in the dimming glow
Her program skated clean
Her last red crimson dream
Swallowed by the rink that for so long has been her home
With her presence now gone the music whines and echo’s its tears
The arena shakes mourning its beauty now lost
For now where once stood grace, a now desolate space
The lost grave of the lovely Blood Rose
© Copyright 2017 Byron Quinn. All rights reserved.
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