Some days you hold a bed of roses as only a state of mind
Promises seem to be forgotten in drifting pieces
Wondering how absence thinks of ways to make fonder
A heart that watches time burning bridges
With faith that never ceases
So often an eager crowd serves a master of lonely places
You can hear them whispering words of praise
They are swirling in a powerful roundabout of illusion
Spent in rooms where the only way out
Cannot be paraphrased
Some have chosen their scars as seed to plant in rows
Then wonder why their fields are full of pain
Aside from sorrow can you imagine what could dwell
As rows of beautiful flowers in the heart
Where love remains
We hear I am sorry in a moment that passes forgotten
On days when a bed of roses does not exist
Should we choose to serve a master of lonely places
Or plant seeds of forgiveness in our fields
From unclenched fists
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:49 AM UTC
Some days you hold a bed of roses as only a state of mind
Promises seem to be forgotten in drifting pieces
Wondering how absence thinks of ways to make fonder
A heart that watches time burning bridges
With faith that never ceases
So often an eager crowd serves a master of lonely places
You can hear them whispering words of praise
They are swirling in a powerful roundabout of illusion
Spent in rooms where the only way out
Cannot be paraphrased
Some have chosen their scars as seed to plant in rows
Then wonder why their fields are full of pain
Aside from sorrow can you imagine what could dwell
As rows of beautiful flowers in the heart
Where love remains
We hear I am sorry in a moment that passes forgotten
On days when a bed of roses does not exist
Should we choose to serve a master of lonely places
Or plant seeds of forgiveness in our fields
From unclenched fists
Copyright *Neva Flores @2011
www.changefulstormpoetry.blogspot.com
www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/Changefulstorm
Request permission to use this poem