THE ROSE~ This is not a poem about a rose Nor a poem, about diligence and beauty Today, I sit and stare at the walls ,
that bare the complexity of life Every breath, every tear I shed in my room Set out to pollinate every seed,
every bud- Life once - was the perfection of everything
Now, water drops as I drown in my sentiments --- Sentiments that no longer hold meaning I feel so empty now that you are gone.
This is not a poem about a rose, Rather, it may be, I write about death Death is a man with no face
A man who sits every night Patiently, he sits on the edge of everything Waiting and waiting,
For the thorn to prick the stem of who I am,
Who I used to be, in hopes I end the suffering
Every night he sits on the bedside Watching and waiting
As I gaze deep into the dark watery walls I lose the strength and resilience in my eyes. Creating a dormancy, that shuts out the light In a place where darkness prunes itself another day
There and only there, I draw the silhouettes where life once bloomed
The echoes of my heart still call out your name A name that no longer exists by my side
Slowly, the musk withers into the air In remembrance, you were once here Perfection Gone,
~And a rose is just a rose~
YOU ARE READING
The Dying Rose
PoetryThis is a book of quotes and poems.♡ Things I went through. I'm only a teen yet know most of the world. This book is about how different people see life /world.
