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