Sometimes it feels like we grind our roses
destroying the last rose on our miserable spit of earth
the only color, the only beauty we have to hold on to
Mortar and Pestal of cruelty and anger
they serve us well
and effortlessly mash beauty into dust.
But what is so easily destroyed cannot be made anew
and with no more roses
what do you have to look forward to?
well then, what's the point
of grinding up a rose if you will miss it later?
What's the point of destroying beauty
if you live for it?
Negating your purpose,
destroying your hope
that last rose is all that you have
and once its ground up...
that's all there is.

I'm grinding my rose
the last rose on the earth
and cursing forever
the hour of my birth

annan.