Sunday, December 12, 2010

Tears of a Thorned Flower

Ill walk without the speed of an elder
Or speak above the rain
But I shall hold my own hand content
And tuck my chin below
As others do in remorse

Each flower they place
A memory never to die,
Is brought by many
But one, I do not bear

But as others depart on muted feet
I stay to see the roses cry

First from reds and yellows
Fading to deep shades of nature

I do not understand
As I watch the life poor from the victim
Into the earth it flows
With no sun to follow
It is soaked up by the leaves and rough

I still watch, to see
Through my very eyes
The color from nature to soft shades
Seeming grey

The rose that once sat red
Now lingers at a dark nightly shade

The lily that once lye yellow
Now bares a new, gloomy shade of shrill brown

The rain almost slows down
Before sliding down each decaying petal
As if it would break upon contact

I watch as the remains of the beauties
Shrivel to a bleak, endless black
And the rain slows to nothing
The few left drops are tears

Tears of the journey,
The rose and lily
Just took
Upon the death they were left to morn over

So here I stand, very spot,
Years later
To find, the tears of a thorned flower
Still lingering upon the delicate petals
Of an fragile rose,
 representing an imperfect life

Dec. 10 2010

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