I used to smell the roses.
To pluck them would be a sin,
Defiling the lustre it lent the garden.
So, with eyes and nose,
I admire.
The pictures don't capture its beauty.
Tainted by the choices surrounding it,
On a screen that feigns the world.
It's no rose. Not to me.
Time takes with it each petal.
As the last comes to fall,
I know I've enjoyed its wonder
While it lasted.