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Dec 2019 · 165
The parasite
Orange Rose Dec 2019
I have been told
To let it go
As if my past
Is something I'm hanging on to.

They got it wrong.

If my past could be
Thrown against rocks,
Against bricks and shattered
And thrown away,

That'd be okay with me.

Instead, it sticks
Like honey or glue
That covers clawed hands
Gnarled and grabbing.

It is a thing alive
And breathing and fighting.
A parasite and I am its host.
I'm not hanging on to my past.

It's hanging on to me.
Aug 2019 · 119
One Day
Orange Rose Aug 2019
Classrooms are what you make of them
Empty faces, cotton filled ears
The spark of something new in the eyes of a few
The glaze of sleep in most.
Anticipating the day they are freed.

One day.

Professors who do their best not to reflect the boredom
That they sense thick as tar in the closed up space.
Windows shut, blinds down.
No distractions,
They hope their pupils make something of themselves.

One day.

One girl in the corner jotting down notes,
Too slow before they're erased from the board.
She holds on to imagination as much as she can,
It stretches thin as it flees from her.
She hopes she can make it strong again.

One day.

The boy in the back always has his head down,
Never fully present,
Never to be whole again.
Loss is a bullet none can dodge.
He hopes the would will heal.

One day.

And the ******* her laptop before class begins.
Typing what she sees in the guise of prose
Desperately hoping the creativity she lost,
Can find it's way back to her.

One day.
Aug 2019 · 151
Orange Rose Aug 2019
My favorite time of morning,
Is when darkness yields to dawn,
And the light of daybreak signals,
That it's time to carry on.

As gentle as a mother's touch,
It beckons us to wake.
For daylight brings new life,
And wide-eyes bliss and risks to take.

As some of us awaken,
Many more are lulled to sleep,
And we among the living,
Have some promises to keep.

We haven't been here very long,
Still childlike at heart,
And holding onto hope of something more,
Another start.

And so we wait for morning,
And seek shelter from the night.
As brave as we pretend we are,
We're creatures of the light.

That's why I love the morning.
Orange Rose Feb 2019
My muddled mind makes quite a mess
Of thoughts and crumbling words
I think I know what’s going on
But every sentence goes unheard

And after empty conversations
My mind just empties out
And every thought I thought I had
Escapes and I must go without

I wonder what would happen
If I just decide to change
My mind and heart and soul and life
And maybe then I’d rearrange

My thoughts which fly disorganized
And will not let me be
I wonder if I changed all that
What would be left of me?
Dec 2018 · 287
Questions I Can Never Ask
Orange Rose Dec 2018
How ever did it happen,
That I never fell in love,
When eyes like yours could rival oceans blue and skies above?

How ever did I manage,
Not to run into your arms,
When every broken smile you gave was laced with all your charms?

How ever did I wave goodbye,
When our paths began to part,
And I was left alone with just the pounding of my heart?

How ever was I happy,
When you were no longer there,
And I found peace and joy within the stillness of the air?

And when did it occur to me,
That none of it is true,
But every road I travel down just leads me back to you?
Dec 2018 · 277
I do.
Orange Rose Dec 2018
The aisle never seemed so long as when I watched her walking toward me.

Her smile never seemed so bright as when her eyes were raining tears of joy.  

And as she floated forward as though she were on a cloud,

My own mind could not fathom whether she were an angel or a snowflake.

A pixie or a swan.
Nov 2018 · 209
Romeo and Juliet
Orange Rose Nov 2018
When Romeo chose poison,
He chose to die asleep,
And painlessly join Juliet.
Their promise still to keep.

When Juliet chose to follow him,
A dagger in her breast,
Embrace could never feel so sweet,
As Death's gentle arrest.

The Reaper kissed them kindly,
And took them by the hand,
And led them far away from here,
To find a better land.

They left us here to ponder,
Faces white as winter snow,
Why lovers couldn't live to tell,
The tale of long ago.
Oct 2018 · 243
Orange Rose Oct 2018
The world outside is calm and still,
But inside there is chaos.
The wind awakens raging seas,
Where many lives are lost.

And yet the sun is shining bright,
Though no warmth reaches through.
It stretches through the empty eye,
And lights the angry blue.

But eyes do not stay open long.
They close when light is gone,
And even with approach of dawn,
The storm is raging on.
Orange Rose Sep 2018
I have not lived a-hundred years.
There is much I've yet to see,
And days which I have yet to live.
I'm not yet who I'm meant to be.

The people who I'll one day love,
Have yet to see my face.
The time will come for them to make,
The memories I cannot replace.

Perhaps I'll have a family,
Or, Maybe I'll remain alone,
If one day I should serve the time,
For sins that I can not atone.

Yet one thing is for certain.
It's the only truth I trust;
Just like the words upon a page,
I'll one day fade to dust.
Sep 2018 · 701
Words Words Words
Orange Rose Sep 2018
A word is simply letters
And letters simply lines
To help convey the many thoughts,
Which tangle in our minds.

And yet somehow we struggle,
To find what's right to say.
With all the words we've seen or heard,
Our thoughts still slip away.

We use our words as paintings.
We use our words as masks,
To hide from those who see too much.
We hide from what they ask.

When thoughts don't flow with words,
They tumble from our eyes.
We wipe them in frustration,
For revealing our disguise.

To some our words are power.
To others, they are shame.
To me they are a paintbrush,
No painting is the same.

To you they may be weapons,
Or as gentle as the dawn,
But no matter what you think of them,
The words will carry on.
Aug 2018 · 693
I Can't Write Poetry
Orange Rose Aug 2018
Words have always come to me,
As easy as the air I breathe,
And now they turn their heads and flee,
So I can't write my poetry.

Don't ask me to write pretty words,
They're gone as far as I'm concerned,
They've flown away like little birds,
And now there's nothing to be heard.

I've used up every single rhyme,
A new hobby would be sublime,
I'm sick of always keeping time,
Like breaking it would be a crime.

But even when I try to write,
It seems my flowing thoughts are tight,
The silence gives me quite a fright,
Like darkness in the dead of night.

It's time to say goodbye to day,
So it's good the words have gone away,
I didn't want them anyway.
It's good they didn't want to stay.

Those words have never done me good,
Or gave me solace like they should,
I wonder if they ever could.
Perhaps I have misunderstood.

But anyway the point is made.
I can't keep up with this facade.
The race is done, the game is played,
And now my poems have to fade.

So now my life is up to fate,
To leave you this is what I hate,
And one last poem would be great.
To say goodbye and then- oh wait...

Have I been rhyming all along?
Did I really write another song?
I thought my words had said "so long,"
Now they've come back to prove me wrong.
Aug 2018 · 436
Symphony of Life
Orange Rose Aug 2018
I hear a song which colors Autumn.
It sings Creation's symphony,
Of days long past, or still to be,
Of what the Earth is to become.

It moves the air and paints the skies.
The waves crash with crescendos,
And with its trumpets, wind does blow.
The cellos play.  The eagle flies.

With violins the flowers bloom.
With piccolos the sparrow calls.
Like cotton snow, the music falls.
The drums begin. The mountains loom.

And when it seems the song will end,
In Winter's white and icy chill,
When all the world is calm and still,
The trumpets will begin again.
inspired by Vivaldi
Jul 2018 · 717
Goodnight to the Child...
Orange Rose Jul 2018
Goodnight to the child who seems wide awake.
Rock-a-bye baby who’s lost in the waves.
Sleep tight to the girl who can feel the ground shake.
Listen well to the song you will take to your graves.

Let the half-moon embrace you in silvery light,
While invisible winds dry your tears.
Let your souls shine in heaven and brighten the night,
And the stars melt away all your fears.

Farewell, little ones, now we bid you adieu,
‘Till we meet on the road to the sky,
And the wings we have damaged are finally made new.
But for now we must tell you goodbye.
Jul 2018 · 396
What’s the Weather?
Orange Rose Jul 2018
If emotion changed the weather,
There would be a little shower.
Speckled sun would light the rain,
That rests on every flower.

But yesterday would have brought storms,
Who’s thunder echoed loud,
And lightning in the darkest night,
Exposed the angry clouds.

The day before was overcast,
Without much more to tell.
Days like those are common,
And I know them very well.

Tomorrow might bring summer sun,
Or winds that pull up trees,
Or autumn’s firey colors,
Or winter’s ruthless freeze.

Today though, there are rainbows,
And drops that seem to glow.
The birds are singing special songs,
From many years ago.
Jul 2018 · 385
The Little Worker Bee
Orange Rose Jul 2018
I am a little worker bee,
Who fumbles while she works,
And bears the weight of her duty,
Until her wings are hurt.

Her house thinks her a stranger,
Her uniforms a smile,
She doesn’t see the danger,
While she walks the extra mile.

Her eyes are purple ivory,
As her night knows little sleep,
Though her stomach may be empty,
She cannot seem to eat.

She knows that she is dying,
But still she carries on,
And her wings will keep on flying,
Long after she is gone.
Jul 2018 · 466
Orange Rose Jul 2018
I would that I were different,
But only for a day,
Enough to see humanity,
Exactly as you say.

To see a smile and feel its warmth,
Would seem the strangest thing,
Since all I see are clenching teeth,
And the lies that they could bring.

You see two eyes and seem amazed,
With all that they could do,
But when I look I give a frown,
Since all I see is blue.

You always seem so certain,
In what the future brings.
You carry on in confidence.
I question everything.

And when we talk perspective,
Your whole world drowns in light.
It shines and glows for all to see.
Mine only knows the night.

If I could see like you do,
Maybe everything could change,
And when I go back to being me,
Your vision would remain.
Jun 2018 · 480
The Drums
Orange Rose Jun 2018
There are drums in the distant gray sky,
And they drum to the beat of the wind,
And my heart follows closely in time,
To the sound bringing chills to my skin.

And the hooves of the deer echo back,
As they’re racing across the long field,
With the lightning the sky seems to crack,
From the bolt that great Jupiter wields.

And the storm brings destruction in rain,
And the oak trees bend down to the floor,
And the ones who do not bow in pain,
Are the ones who are surely no more.
Jun 2018 · 366
Orange Rose Jun 2018
I am no stranger to other worlds,
I travel them day after day.
Adventure and fanciful stories unfurl,
And always they are as I say.

My head harbors mountains and skies that aren’t blue,
And armies of fairies and elves,
And people and places too good to be true,
And things that I don’t dare to tell.

The world that I live in has beauty indeed,
But anger and sadness abound,
And stories of youth have planted the seed,
For my own precious world to be found.

I have often considered letting go of that place,
To get my head out of the clouds,
It is true I’m no child, and I’m not fair of face,
Just one silly girl in a crowd.

But the more I forget, the more I create,
And the more I become someone more,
And the world that I live in is seeing a change,
From the person I have been before.
Jun 2018 · 416
A White Lily
Orange Rose Jun 2018
The Garden should not keep its name.
It’s soil is filled with stone,
And weeds too thick and wild to tame.
One lily stands alone.

Her petals like a bridal gown,
She seems to bloom with pride.
A spot of white amongst the brown,
Too radiant to hide.

The vines have shown her mercy,
They tangle where they lie.
She bows as though in curtsy,
When it’s time for her to die.

Her gown is turning brown like mud,
But still she goes with grace.
She knows that soon another bud,
Will bloom to take her place.
Jun 2018 · 1.6k
My Mother’s Prayer
Orange Rose Jun 2018
I walked a mile in Mother’s shoes,
Before turning around.
I realized everything I’d done,
And crumpled to the ground.

For all my tears she wiped away,
She cried a hundred more.
I heard her praying late one night,
For all God had in store.

I lived a life of pleasure.
She lived a life of pain.
She always wore a smile,
Though for all she lost I gained.

And although I’m still changing,
And growing everyday,
Her simple midnight whispers,
Have always stayed the same.
May 2018 · 665
After Sunset
Orange Rose May 2018
The evening sky is sea foam,
With the clouds a-flowing in.
The tide is turning nicely,
While the wind brings darkness in.

The earth keeps on a-spinning,
While the sky keeps it in shade.
How strange it is to see the sea,
From underneath the waves.

The bats are flying fishes,
The trees are coral reefs,
The fireflies are plankton,
All a-living down beneath.

But people have no purpose here,
Not in the ocean deep.
I know it’s time to travel back,
And wake up from my sleep.
May 2018 · 572
A Southern Lullaby
Orange Rose May 2018
Every night I’m lulled to sleep,
By the dripping of heavy dew,
By crickets as they play their song,
By the Owl asking, “Who?”

But just before I fall asleep,
I hear a *****’s Scream.
The foxes are mischievous,
As they prance beside the stream.

A moth is fluttering on the glass,
She’s enchanted by the light,
Of the little lamp beside the bed,
To keep away the Night.

And once the light is gone again,
And everything is still,
The cicadas sing a special song.
I’m delighted by their trill.

And when I can’t resist it,
When my time to sleep grows nigh,
I close my eyes and listen,
To a Southern Lullaby.
May 2018 · 632
On Grief
Orange Rose May 2018
I look at you, but you aren't there,
And I breathe a sigh of sadness.
If I look away I'll face my fear,
And succumb to a world of madness.

I reach for you, but you don't reach back,
And water wets my face.
I think of everything I lack,
In the game of the Human Race.

You didn't know what would happen that day.
What you reaped you did not sew.
I look at you and all I say;
"Why did you have to go?"
May 2018 · 478
Magic of the Rain
Orange Rose May 2018
How can you say that the world is plain,
When waterfalls fall with the fall of the rain,
And puddles are gleaming like brand-new veneer?
Don't you know there is magic here?

I look at the flowers and expect to see Fae,
Yawning and stretching at dawn of the day,
Or harvesting dewdrops which fall in the night,
Flitting and flying from left to the right.

Have you walked through the forest and breathed in the air?
Have you laughed as the chipmunks ran fast from the hare?
Have you noticed how leaves turn the golden light green?
Have you seen all there is in the woods to be seen?

Oh Friend, have you stretched out your hands to the sun?
Have you seen the sky change since the day has begun?
Will you lift up your eyes and be wrapped in the dark,
And watch as the moon and the stars make their mark?

Do you really not know there is magic here,
While the puddles are gleaming like brand-new veneer,
And the waterfalls fall with the fall of the rain?
How can you say that the world is plain?
May 2018 · 346
The Whippoorwill
Orange Rose May 2018
I sometimes sit alone at night,
All huddled up and out of sight,
And listen to the whippoorwill;
She welcomes darkness with her trill.

Her feathers bear no colored spot,
A peacock’s beauty, she has not,
But still, she perches calm and proud,
As she sings her name aloud.

She doesn’t know that she is plain,
And continues singing her refrain,
I smile, knowing all along;
Her beauty rests within her song.
May 2018 · 497
The Cavern
Orange Rose May 2018
I stumble in the blinding dark.
I cannot see a single mark,
Of light, of rock, of man or beast.
It seems the night will have its feast.
When suddenly a glowing light,
Emits from somewhere out of sight.

I stagger toward it, unaware,
Of a sudden thinness in the air.

A cave now seems to beckon me,
And as I enter, all I see,
Are crystals shining like the sun.
Like broken mirrors, dull are none.
My fear now seems to melt away,
And false safety is here to stay.

For suddenly I feel safe and sound,
Though I'm miles and miles below the ground.
May 2018 · 30.0k
I wrote a poem
Orange Rose May 2018
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
May 2018 · 464
Freedom in Chains
Orange Rose May 2018
I wear a muzzle 'round my mouth,
To keep my words from falling.
My padded heart is bound in chains,
To keep my soul from calling.

My ears are deafened by the sound,
Of ten-thousand people lying.
My eyes are blinded and covered with cloth,
So I do not know I'm crying.

My arms and legs are tied together,
To hinder my escape.
They sing a siren's lullaby,
To be sure I never wake.

And though everything is soft and still,
And I feel like I am sinking,
My mind is loud with angry shouts.
They cannot stop me thinking.
Apr 2018 · 191
Orange Rose Apr 2018
I have never asked the wind from whence it came.
Or what purpose that the thunder gives the rain.
I have never sought to grasp the rays of sun.
Or pondered how our wars are always won.
Apr 2018 · 1.4k
Orange Rose Apr 2018
I remember all those years ago,
You said, “Don’t grow up too fast.”
I remember us watching the fireflies glow,
But the past is now the past.

You picked me up and spun me round,
You tucked me into bed.
With you I was always safe and sound.
Now I follow where I’m led.

I remember us playing in the sand.
You always made me laugh.
I wish I could always hold your hand.
But I walk a different path.

I find it hard to turn away,
It makes me want to cry.
A part of me just wants to stay,
But it’s time for me to fly.

A brand new season has begun.
I don’t know where time has gone,
But my eyes are on the rising sun.
It’s time to journey on.
For Graduation.  The first three stanzas are dedicated to my Mother, Father, and little brother, respectively.
Mar 2018 · 307
A World Of Our Own
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Have you ever noticed,
How silence can be loud,
Or how heavy seem the birds,
As they’re floating through the clouds?

Have you ever stopped and listened,
To the sound of your own heart,
And wondered, while it’s beating,
“Could there be another part?”

Have you sat beneath a willow,
Heard the wind sing in the trees,
And strained to listen closer,
To the music on the breeze?

Have you looked up at the night sky,
And saw diamonds from afar,
And thanked heaven for the darkness,
Lest you never see the stars?

Or could it be that you’re too busy,
That you haven’t got a prayer,
To look up from your own world,
To see the world we share?
Mar 2018 · 235
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Tonight I will travel to worlds unseen,
To oceans deep and forests green.
I will fly with wings I have never owned,
And converse with friends I have never known.
I wanted to write something short and sweet for a change.
Mar 2018 · 223
Orange Rose Mar 2018
My dream is that of rolling hills,
Which turn to waterfalls.
And once the river is quiet and still,
It then becomes a hall.

The hall has arches tall and wide,
And at the end, a King.
He reaches me with two great strides,
And beckons me to sing.

And then I saw the people there,
Who did not have a choice.
The musicians played with utmost care,
Yet, I couldn’t find my voice.

It was then I was imprisoned,
In a dungeon cold and dark.
And soon I was positioned,
So that the ax could hit its mark.

But then dungeon turned cathedral,
And I smiled at the priest,
When the tolling bells began to call,
The children to the feast.

Then I was alone again,
Amongst the rolling hills.
I heard the voices on the wind,
Which suddenly went still.

And then the hill was soaked in red,
The ax had found its sheath.
My soul and mind were filled with dread,
And I drifted off to sleep.
Mar 2018 · 262
The Blue
Orange Rose Mar 2018
A flash of red on a hilltop green,
Was the very last thing that his eyes would see,
Before sinking beneath the Blue.

And the crimson-haired girl fell to the ground,
And from her lips there came a sound,
Only heard by the wind and the Blue.

And her husband watched as her eyes filled with tears,
And he wondered why after all these years,
She would always stare at the Blue.

She stood on a hilltop with hair now gray,
And waved at her children on a warm summer's day,
As they sailed across the Blue.

Now wrinkled and frail with hair so white,
She breathes a sigh and she shuts her eyes tight,
And she sleeps to the sound of the Blue.
A story.
Mar 2018 · 272
Orange Rose Mar 2018
A swing,
Coated in charcoal gloss,
Swaying in the gentle afternoon breeze,
Seems more than I deserve.

For, though surrounded by a scene of peace,
And the epitome of serenity,
Chaos ensues.

Though the sky is speckled with tufts of cotton,
Dark storms rage on.

Eyes once bright and shining,
Now dull and cloudy.
Through ivory,
Dark, tired purple appears.

A mind,
Surrounded by smiling faces,
And sunny days,
And full hearts,
And glad tidings,
Is tired.

It can see nothing but gray.
Mar 2018 · 247
You Remind Me of the Wind
Orange Rose Mar 2018
You remind me of the wind,
That settles in the early hour of morning.
I cherish every breeze which cools my skin.
Mar 2018 · 247
A Sonnet for God
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Shall I not enjoy life's generous gift,
Bouquets of roses and of birds and trees,
When in God's glory does my spirit lift,
To hear the quiet music in the breeze?
Should not my soul linger in the stillness,
And strain to hear Him whisper in my ear,
Of promises and comforts and kindness,
Of all these things so wonderful to hear?
My heart longs to be there in His presence,
To sing His praises so long as I live.
My mind and soul meet in coalescence,
To give the Father all that I can give.
He rules with love and kindness unsurpassed,
'Till, called home, we return to Him at last.
Originally written for a high school poetry assignment.  I just liked the way it turned out, so here we are.
Mar 2018 · 235
The Life of a Tree
Orange Rose Mar 2018
The wind will blow,
And a seed will fall,
And its head will peek,
From the ground below.

And the sun will shine,
With his rays so bright,
And the sprout will grow,
In the friendly light.

And the days will pass,
And the nights grow cold,
But the young tree stands,
Through the icy snow.

For the rain may fall,
And the sun not show,
But the tree will wait,
For its time to grow.

And the birds will nest,
And the squirrels will climb,
And they always return,
Time after time.

For when sky is gray,
And cold rain falls,
Through weather harsh,
The tree stands tall.

But the wind will blow,
And the tree will fall,
With a thunderous crash,
And a mournful call.
Mar 2018 · 663
Ignorance is...
Orange Rose Mar 2018
I never wondered why the sky was blue,
Or wondered why the trees would lose their leaves.
I never asked why mourning doves would coo,
At morning time when silence rode the breeze.

I never asked why sunset turned clouds pink.
Or wondered why the grass would roll down hills.
It wasn't that I didn't like to think,
But questions never came to me at will.

I never questioned why you said "I do."
Or ever held uncertainty for your smile.
I never doubted you'd always be true.
I knew you'd be beside me every mile.

I didn't notice when the tears would fall.
I never questioned why you'd always lie.
I never thought about our last phone call.
But always wondered why you had to die.
almost all my poems start out all light and fluffy and then reality punches you in the face.  i don't know why.
Mar 2018 · 293
Just a Desperate Prayer
Orange Rose Mar 2018
I pray that someday peace will be the goal of our nation.
I pray that freedom will be true.
I pray that kindness and compassion will be instinctual.
I pray that hearts may be changed by the truth.
I pray for a country that stands by its foundations.
I pray that it does not bend to the will of a people who would see it break.
I pray for a country whose leaders will lead and not be led.
I pray for a day when people will smile at each other on the street.
I pray for casual conversation on the subway.
I pray for the future I thought I would have.
I pray for the future of generations to come.
Mar 2018 · 477
Orange Rose Mar 2018
At break of day our eyes will close.
We pray that soon the sun will go,
To hide behind a moon that glows.
We pray that soon the falling snow,
Will conceal the ground below,
Which opens up and swallows us whole.
We will not be forgotten, though.

Our stories are read by those who are late,
And they will know of our mistakes,
And be smart enough to slam on brakes,
For finally they know the stakes,
And refuse to follow in the fate,
Of a world consumed by floods of hate,
Where all we know disintegrates.

And all that's left is Dust.
the second stanza was imagined first at around 2:45 am as i was drifting off to sleep.  i knew i wouldn't remember it if i didn't write it down so i grabbed a pen and paper. lo and behold, when i woke up i had completely forgotten that i had written it.  the first stanza was written later.
Mar 2018 · 236
Orange Rose Mar 2018
I used to believe,
When I was a child,
That Fairies hid behind trees.
          That every time,
           I turned my head,
          They would come out to stare at me.

I used to believe,
When I was a child,
That roses gave pixies their flight.
          That the Dewdrops that stayed,
          At the dawn of the day,
          Was nothing but fallen starlight.

I used to believe,
When I was a child,
That bells brought wedding days.

          That the bride wearing white,
          And the groom in his suit,
          Were happy forever and always.

I used to believe,
When I was a child,
That mommies and daddies don't fight.

          But if all you see,
          Is all you know,
          You're blinded by your sight.
Mar 2018 · 189
Orange Rose Mar 2018
There are days when I feel like Broken Glass,
Where I glisten and gleam in the soft, green Grass.
And Anyone who dares to tread,
On my resting Place is sure to dread,
The Pain of a wound that is Hot like Ice,
And the Soul who receives it will not tread twice.

How ugly a shattered Dish can be.
A useless, biting Thing like Me,
Who injures those who come too Near.
Those Souls who are Drawn by my gleaming veneer.

I must Wait for someone to hold me just right,
Who can see how I shimmer in Bright, morning light.
Who sees me not as a Thing of no value,
And will Strive to turn me into something New.

Yes, I am Broken beyond repair,
And those who come close should Surely beware.
But Mosaics too are works of Art.
Of something Beautiful, will I be a part.
Mar 2018 · 207
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Heart of sadness cease your tears.
Save the rest for all the years,
Of pain, of shattering on the floor,
Of empty promises and closing doors.

Heart of gladness dim your smile.
Have some left for every mile,
Of laughter, and the rising sun,
Of adventure, and of having fun.

Heart of grieving dry your eyes.
Lift them now up to the skies,
Of gentle blue and cotton white,
Of sunny days and starry nights.
Mar 2018 · 292
The Song
Orange Rose Mar 2018
When you're born you have a song,
That others cannot hear.
For music they don't understand,
Falls deaf upon their ear.

So, when you find somebody,
Who can hear you loud and clear,
Keep them close inside your heart,
And hold them very dear.
Mar 2018 · 409
A Gigantic Giant
Orange Rose Mar 2018
A Gigantic Giant is mad at his wife.
He made her cry big, wet tears.
Now he's stomping around on the cloud-covered ground.
The sound is quite frightening to hear!

You can hear him shout loudest on dark, windy nights,
When a burning coal flies from the hearth.
He yells a bad word,
(One that I never learned,)
And the big coal falls down to the earth!

It fills up the sky with a blinding, white light.
Sometimes it makes little girls scream.
You can hear a loud CRACK so you know where it's at.
It can even burn down a whole tree!

A Gigantic Giant is settling down.
His wife isn't crying as much.
He sits down in his chair,
His wife brushes her hair,
They'll fight again next week with luck!
Description of a thunderstorm.  Meant to be read as though through the eyes of a child.
Mar 2018 · 229
Orange Rose Mar 2018
My life is not a number,
Or a letter on a page.
I am more than any words I say.
I am more than just a name.

I am worth more than my salary.
I am not some porcelain doll.
My life is for the Living.
And I plan to Live it all.
Mar 2018 · 347
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Once I was a Butterfly,
With colored wings I flew so high,
Up toward the sun in the clear, blue sky.
Once I was a Butterfly.

Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.
I towered above the canopy,
And saw all that there was to see.
Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.

Once I was a Shooting Star.
Beyond the Moon I soared so far.
I burned so bright but did not char.
Once I was a Shooting Star.

Once I was an ocean Wave.
I splashed the children while they played.
I touched the sand but never stayed.
Once I was an ocean Wave.

Once I was a Little Girl,
Who thought the Earth was like a pearl,
But saw her dreams dashed by the world.
Once I was a Little Girl.
Mar 2018 · 292
To A Little Red Bird
Orange Rose Mar 2018
Oh little bird with such sweet sound,
Why do you sit upon the ground,
When you could soar and flit and flutter,
And get away from all the clutter,
Which threatens peace and clouds the mind,
And deafens ears and makes eyes blind?

I hear you singing from your tree.
Your music seems to beckon me.
To fly would be a lovely thing,
To soar above on feathered wings,
To escape from that which plagues me so,
And chuckle at the ground below.

Alas, dear bird, it cannot be,
For I am bound by Gravity.

— The End —