Kiss of the Black Rose

kiss of the black rose

Kiss of the Black Rose

Maddening in its starkness,
I stared at an immense, darkly ornate door,
deathly afraid to push it open and reveal what was inside.
Frightened at what might be in store,
going from salvation’s light to wicked darkness,
my manic thoughts cried out from beyond the graveside.

Yet push in the door I did.
With an ominous groan that rang
throughout the empty corridors of my existence,
I peered into screaming shadows before I slid
within, the angry door slamming shut with a bang.
My anxious heart pounding madly with foreboding resistance.

In the center of the room stood a monstrous table,
a long, desolate, silent slab of wood
over which a lonely light bulb cast its eerie glow.
Slowly I stepped forward, barely unable
to stop my nervous hands from shaking, aware I would
be too unstable to reach for a hushed, black rose.

For I could see, lying upon this austere surface,
fifteen black roses which seemed to breathe
with a vibrant resonance all their own.
There was one in particular that cried
out my name, incredibly seeming to seethe
with the plangent chime of a prognostic metronome.

My fingertips caressed one of the beautiful, black flowers.
Suddenly it jumped onto my palm, anxious skin ablaze,
my startled eyes squeezing shut in pain.
A sharp, angry, lacerating shaft of light devoured
all my fears, incinerating shattered yesterdays
Then the rose whispered your name.

In shock, I backed against the door in fear.
A mist appeared from shadows that held your eyes,
then your face, and seconds later, your arms reachng for me.
I stared down at the rose and saw one tear.
“Worry not, for you will be together again,” it sighed.
You smiled, as your vision faded,
my heart beating thankfully.

Quietly I left the room to its stunning silence,
for upon the table still rested fourteen black roses,
forever awaiting your compliance.

(c) Kerry Marzock

black rose poetry society


Some memories are darker than others.

Through crimson mist and icy fog
I share my tears to stand alone.
Tis’ raven wing and eye of dog
that rips my flesh down to the bone.
I clutch your hand within my fingers,
sweet woman’s touch now formed of claws.
The pain of love now lost…..yet sadly lingers…..
your name thus whispered from savage jaws.
This human skin now gladly shed
is cast aside like haunted memories.
Your throat exposed as once you bled
through frightful screams and tortured pleas.
I still love you now as I did then,
yet shutter while my beast roams free.
Forever lost upon this bloody path when…..
fractured moon cries out to me
in dreams and fog of mystic beast.
Please share my haunted memories
if you dare…..
to share with me the walk
up angry path of crimson tears.
Behind this mocking door
sobs the memory I most abhor,
the mark of beast upon
my breast to shatter my humanity.
To shower at my feet the fears
that life has ceased to beat
with the beauty thus once held.
So come and take my hand,
or paw ….. or claw,
and let this wolf of mystic dreams
guide you up to stop and stand
before the alter where we’ll share
the blood of beast and man.
Push wide the door that leads to me
and all my haunted memories.

© Kerry Marzock