Short Stories or Creative Pieces, I'm good at those for once

I had the urge to publish my my English Encountering Conflict Written piece and I do hope you take time to read it. They are two pieces which I believe displayed my creativity the strongest. It is very pleasing and I hope you like it. An inspiration for the type of language used I cannot recall but some things, I had Poe in mind, though none of my material holds such power as his. It is quite short and it will not hold up much of your time. Enjoy.

The Rose

Her beauty and devine glory blooms in the early chills of spring. As she stretches in the wake of a new beginning, the rest of her reveals her youthfulness aroused from the ground. She is now outstreched and devluges her flush of deep redness that lusts for vivacity. Her silent moans are heard from miles away as she exposes her suave petals, blossoming one by one. Her sweet perfume seduces the atmosphere, forcing her surroundings to bow down in her scent. She will one day grow with shame for she will shrivel and wilt, begging her destiniy for her life in the next.

In the Garden

As I pace in the garden behind this cold stoned church, my eyes cannot help but wander to the angelic figure lying on the ground. She is fixed upon the beauty of a rose. I stand here now, basking in her presence. Is she not cold? Her blue revealing dress shares with me a secret of pale smoothness on which it fails to gaurd. She looks of eminence higher than I, but no coat to keep her warm? No shoes to prevent the dirt? No matter, for her beauty still illuminates and her flaws are unnoticed. I have not yet caught her glance, but her warmth is near, caressing my skin. I feel the chills of this pristine Sunday morning no more. Look at her, her long luxurious hair of apricot orange lingers on the curves of her body. My thoughts have now been hindered for I have remembered that I do indeed have a wife who does not love me dearly. But my Sunday's angel displays her elegance and grace which has truly attracted me. One day I may love her and she she may love me too. O, I do wish to marry her, but I am not the apple that belongs to her eye. It is the rose that longs for her attention, one which I envy.