Black Rose

I’m he, the one of whom you have no wisdom,

knowledge, or understanding, the one who is both

beautiful and hideous at the same time.

I’m he, the one who was buried and left for dead

in the ashes and dirt of fallen kings and queens

who were slaughtered for their divine blooming.

I’m he who fell into an abyss of thorns that

fastened themselves to me and insulated the

roots of my roots that still run through my veins.

I’m he who has no knowledge of photosynthesis,

only the funk of my ancestors’ loud fragrances.

The tears of kings water me.

The bright, fiery smiles of queens shine light upon me,

and the blackness of their breath rolls off their tongues

while they speak to me, consuming every petal

that grows upon my stem.

Dead black!

Thus, I am the little seed you took for nothing.

Thus, I’m the nothing that was a seed that you planted.

I’m the one that you built but can’t break.

I’m the one that plants but can’t cut.

I’m the Black Rose.

Akeel Louison

BlackRose Archive