Roses in Tatters

Roses in the ice and girls on the roof tops.

Fall for me and descend,

fire and water and love upon strife

find me in a bloody, wet, red frame

and wear me on your sleeve.

It spreads.

Books in tatters and stars at the ball

scattered in glowing, dancing pairs.

Their wards in shatters,

glinting, sharp glass on the floor.

Masks made of gold, and tears of silver

dip in the sea of bronze.

I am perfect,

I am shattered.

- M. Eichmann