May 2014
The place at which my roses laugh.
The place of which my garden's craft.
The place in which I beg to seek.
The place through which heaven I see.
It is the place where my heart resides.
Where bombs were ticking at my side.
When it blew, it took my pride.
Yet, it still is where my heart resides.
I long to hear my rose's voice.
I long to walk in my garden's joys.
I long to speak with my colorless friend.
I long to feel passion again.
Alas, I miss my home.
Where my friends, they are my rose.
A clump of roses, in a bed of thorns.
Yet, still they are where my garden was born.
The place of which my garden's craft.
The place in which I beg to seek.
The place through which heaven I see.
It is the place where my heart resides.
Where bombs were ticking at my side.
When it blew, it took my pride.
Yet, it still is where my heart resides.
I long to hear my rose's voice.
I long to walk in my garden's joys.
I long to speak with my colorless friend.
I long to feel passion again.
Alas, I miss my home.
Where my friends, they are my rose.
A clump of roses, in a bed of thorns.
Yet, still they are where my garden was born.
It is days like today, where I miss my home. It is days like today I miss my friends, the roses of my garden. Days like today, I feel like I could die because I know they've moved on. Yet, I can't. I know every step I take is a victory, and no matter how alone a feel, this pain can't possibly last forever. I miss home, but I can't go back. I miss home, but it is a distant memory that is fading to dust.
(United States)
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