It is difficult to know what is right in all cases. - M.B., I.210.29

Seven Colors - Black

The black sullied
Eclipsed moon
Hides its face
No one notices,
Your shroud gets
Stained with mud,
Smell of fresh roses
In the air,

As if celebrating
Your return, an
Un-blossomed bud,
Flesh, bones & roses,
In the grave
Doomed to rot,
The black blood
Leaks like a secret,
Sticks to the cloth,

You have not seen
Nor heard, O mortal!
Of death’s wicked ways,
The hate you spread
Will blossom now, while
All your love decays


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