Poems and stuff

The Rose at the Window

Gray skies were common when one looked out the window
Beauty was foreign if one sought of nothing out the window

And something must be queer if it wasn't so clear
Like the thing that I saw that was out the window

My parents shut the blinds so I couldn't find the queer object of my eye, the thing out the window

I peeked through the cracks every time I had the chance
But something that I lacked was the joyful dance of a whole picture
A picture of the thing that awaited out the window

I longed and waited every night
Every night that I fight to gaze and watch
The thing that awaited out the window

So blind and scared, that I would get caught
So blind and scared, that whatever my parents fraught
Was to be there, waiting out the window

My parents had been absent one lonesome day,
When the sky hadn't been a shade of somewhat gray,
And with sheer determination and finesse,
I found a sickly pastel rose against that window, it was pressed
And somehow my day was no longer lonesome
My happiness grew and I felt wholesome
I watered the rose and the color did grow
Into a deeper red that it would only know
And so I didn't regret that day
Of discovering a little more when I disobeyed
The thing waited for my calm arrival
But the rose's only objective was survival