new poem~ dripping blood 4 july 2019

Dripping blood

The roses on this side of the mirror are not red;

They are black as the darkest night instead.

They absorb all that comes near their beds.

As they blossom and grow, a river forms below;

Of the blood that drips from their tips of red.

Alice sits and wonders just how this is so.

On the grass before them, staring deep into their blackness;

She tries to make sense of all that is different.

Nothing is the same in the dark mirror.

But these flowers that bloom always here,

Are of her most current concern.

They always seem to drip from their tips of red,

The black petals never withering away.

As she steps closer one quiet day.

She peeks around to see who is abound

Before she steps into the flowing river below her toes.

She brings her face as close as she dares

To have the blossoms barely touching her nose.

She looks deep upon these roses long and hard;

Before realizing fast the tips that drip before her eyes

Are in fact, truly dripping blood.

She steps back gasping as she makes her discovery.

Then pauses to sit before them once again

As though she never learnt their true nature.

7.4.2019