Passion is nothing.

From all of the flowers,
The roses are fake.
Invitingly soft,
The one last mistake.

From all of the beauty,
We seek for the view.
For lasting appearance,
Into lie filled dew.

And when the forsaken,
Ask to redeem truth,
I can't be brought back,
Just like petal youth,

From all of the flowers,
The roses are death.
Short moment of glory
And a poisonous breath.