Roses,
A stain of a memory,
Never leaving my head.
Roses.
A mark of innocent love
Now fills me with dread.
Red.
The love that encased us
Was the envy of man.
Red.
For once they saw,
No wars began.
The love of two,
So open and so bare.
Red.
Onlookers could not understand,
Yet always stopped to stare.
A love crafted
By the Gods themselves,
Given only to us,
And no one else.
Red.
With a single bloom
Encasing the two,
It's a wonder
How it has become a memory of you.
The bleeding heart was not mine own,
But instead a gift
That I chose to bestow.
Roses,
A mark of innocent love
Now fills me with dread.
A stain of a memory,
Never leaving my head.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Life
PoetryThis is a gathering of poems about different stages, kinds, and experiences of lives.
