Black Roses

Suddenly, the leaden clouds grow still and the storm freezes mid-strike.
My thoughts stop scattering and I can hear black ink-filled roses bloom in my heart.

 I wonder: is their darkness beautiful or hideous?
 But it doesn't matter, because no matter what - I want to pick up a brush and trace the unwrapping of watery petals, turbulent ink blots, rainbows of black streaks, drowning, unquenchable.

 Life is but the interplay of water and black ink. Cherish the chaos.

The Maker

Stumbled upon an excellent short:

Eerie and beautiful. It leaves a pang and a question. Makes one wonder if our life is as lonely and fleeting.