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The Rose in the Closet

Behind the door where shadows creep,
A secret festers, dark and deep.
A crimson rose, its petals pressed,
Locked away, it knows no rest.

Once kissed by sun, now kissed by guilt,
Its fragile frame begins to wilt.
The air is stale, the whispers loud,
A beauty veiled beneath a shroud.

Its thorns once sharp, now dulled by shame,
Each prick a mark, each scar a name.
It yearns for light, for truth, for air,
Yet stays confined in its despair.

The closet holds what hearts conceal,
A love misplaced, a wound to heal.
The rose, a token of desire,
Burns within its cage of fire.

Oh, keeper of the hidden bloom,
Will you release it from its tomb?
Or will the petals fall away,
Another secret gone astray?