I spoke as it broke and I cried as it died. A flower, just budding is given no rights. It did not see what I saw, it did not live to see the world. But it loved anyway. A single rose in it’s few short seconds of living, loved the world more than anyone else could ever imagine, and all because it was there. It did not need a reason to love, no bribes were given nor was a single kind word spoken, but it lived anyway. That single rose loved the world in all its darkness, it loved every sick and twisted man and every screeching, beating women. It loved every child, from dark to light, though all the same. It loved the good things, it loved the bad, but more importantly; it died. It died for no reason at all. It was not fighting for freedom, nor for the rights of a nation. It wasn't defying the one it loved nor avenging it's lover. It was not called home to god, nor did it burn in hell. It was and then it wasn’t. Clean, simple, and certain. I spoke as it broke and I cried as it died.