Oval, red
falling through space,
edges turned
beauty spurned.
Falling again, flashes of red
pure blissful dread.
Cut, tampered, distorted
rolling into a whirling mass
of red.
Lifeless, homeless
almost dry,

the petals of a rose flower
A red rose flower
that in their struggle
for survival were
bruised.....

Morning Dew

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bruised-4/