Dripping roses, each droplet ripples across the pond
Scarring the surface
How many do you want?
One, to bleed as a reminder of the muddy uproar from a stirring
Two, to recede away from the shore as the tide pulls at my thoughts
Three, to blur all my visions as I stay under and under I will remain
For one was my first
And three will be my last
Won’t it?
I float to the surface, back first
Revealing all the scars that hid under the moss
Bubbling mumbles fade as does the final ripple
The roses,
Engulfed.