The glory left in the past,
Precious gems contained in a tank,
However I wish,
All they relinquish.
I am but a mother,
Failing to give birth.
Pulling a tight rose from its slumber,
I must not, otherwise it won’t mirth.
Thus I pluck the dagger out,
Trace deep on the silk so holy,
Grant blood flow their own story;
Allowing mankind be the judge.
Featured image courtesy of www.pinterest.com