Roses are wilted, violets are dead, Corruption is gilded while truths rot unsaid, The moon hangs hollow on jaundiced skies, And angels in icons avert their eyes. Chapel bells stutter, then choke on their song, As sinners confess what the righteous did wrong. Brides in black lace weep, forsaken, alone, Their vows turned to dust on God's craven throne. The saints have gone silent, the ravens convene, Over gardens where mercy had once been green. Behind every mirror a pale figure grieves, With bloodless hands full of withering leaves. So gather the lilies and shutter the room, Let velvet and candle wax sweeten the gloom, For love was a rumor, and hope was a thread, Now roses are wilted and violets are dead.
