Roses After Midnight Poem by Agatha Eliza

Autumn...the starting point of your inner decadence;
leaves silently falling on the ground, searing flowers
stains of rusty vowes to the white skin of innocence,
the essence of purity slides away beyond the horizon.

Dismal light reflect the abyss in black wicked eyes;
and the heart that cries beneath the wings of death
as anguished like a gloomy shadow floating sleepless
cursed to reign over nature, in a chariot of emptiness.

Please spare the fate of roses growing after midnight;
so feeble in their strain, condemned to be buried alive
by forlorn voices of the spirits summoned by idle wind,
that crushes them with the cold grin of autumnal fiend.