Wicked Is the Rose

Wicked is the rose
That disguises herself
With crimson petals
That catches any mortals eye.

She, who shows a beautiful face
But hides a dark soul
In the shadows of lust
Which poisons even the purist of blood.

Love, unknown to her
Who is missing her heart
And replaces it
With the destruction of men.

Do not fall for her lovliness
For her thorns
Will surely nail your coffin shut.
Wicked is the rose.
♠ ♠ ♠
I couldn't exactly classify what type of poem this was so if "Ode" doesn't seem right, I apologize.