Gazing upon the pristine white,
Breathing in the silver of death,
The seeping blood through the skin of thread,
The burden of unspoken memories buried beneath ,
The bleeding wound a mere scratch on my incandescent soul ,
                                  My incandescent soul
gingerly fading of its exuberance
A canvas of delicacy , color and beauty now ... replicating the death of a rose
The grace of her being , drenched of it’s allure as the axiom is made clear ,
My wandering mind witnesses the dawn of realization and with it comes the veracity that it isn’t war that broke me , it was love