On the life’s field
Is blooming a mystical flower
-the roses’ shield-,
below the cruel colorful rainbow
against the light of sun
as fast as the bright of lightening
or the sound of a gun.

Its deadly non-color
overshadow the strong red of its family
which metamorphoses to a pallor.

Its thorn’s prick
empoisons you with cruel love’s sorrow;
your blood stains its petals
that cry over you like a willow.

But it is peerless,
suffering in a perpetual silence,
without the power to breathe,
it’s loveless;
creatures avoid it and disdain his passion
like a monster of ghostly sadness,
but it wishes only compassion,
to be gather in a shining world,
between two lovers,
vanquishing the wind’s blows;
but it is cursed to cry in murk,
being a wretched Black Rose.