Wonderland

A world existing between the lines steeped in symbolism.

Red is for a rose,
 Blood stained and built in vain.
 Blue is for a sky,
 Before gray takes it for its gain.
 And purple is for royalty,
 Sometimes misguided and misunderstood.
 But white is for purity,
 Until it’s stained by us.
 
Standing among the tall trees,
 In the silence, In the hush,
 Time to think is gained,
 By those who used to rush,
 In their painted garden,
 Of roses under rain,
 They stand in purple robes,
 
With nothing left to gain.
 The sky isn’t blue here.
 The roses were once white.
 And all the wealth that lurks here,
 Will soon be forgot.
 Closing with a bow,
 The once blonde girl turns to black.
 All the colors drain here,
 They fall a thousand back.