Seasons change and leaves had browned.
Here i am sitting, hoping for a single sound.
Flowers begin to wither away
I thought it was just any other day.

A year has passed
I never knew that conversation would be the last.
The yelling, the screaming.
God, just give me some meaning!
Im exhausted Lord, i need advice.
Why was my mother to be a sacrifice.

Lord i love you, but why so much pain?
My eyes are full of vision, but what do i gain?
Mother, father, are you there?
I feel you everywhere.
The smell of amber and vanilla i think of you.
You are gone but still here too.

He was a poor boy from an orphanage nearby.
The only thing he had left from his parents was a nasty scar.
Strangely, he did not hate them for it,
he wore it with pride,
though the other kids laughed when he did.
Compared to the others from this orphanage,
even though the scar covered half of his face,
he wasn’t the monster in this monstrous place.
He had a pure heart, for inside there was hope,
that once he will find his parents.
Only this helped him cope
with the torture his beloved scar
has brought upon him so far.

The years went by,
as they always do,
and from the boy was a man
(and a handsome man, too.)
The scar remained the same, though,
as if untouched by time
but the man didn’t mind
“staying the same, well, that’s not a crime”.
You might even say he was thankful for it;
if the scar was the same as when he was a kid,
his parents would know that it’s really him, their baby, their son.

Suddenly, his time at the orphanage was done.
But when tomorrow came and they had to let him go,
they surprised him, when they wanted to know;
whether he had a name.
And when he said no, they thought for a bit,
then decided to call him John Doe.
So with a new name and an old scar,
he left for the city he knew was far
and full of people afraid of such things as a scar,
for it makes others see how different they are.
But he felt bold, when he left for the station,
because he wasn’t scared of the population.

By the time he reached the city,
for the first time now, he met pity,
wondering glances that came his way,
but when he returned them they glanced away.
Yet nothing could stop him,
not the looks, not the shame,
he was looking for his parents
not for someone to blame.
The scar was his proof and his motivation,
so he headed for the town hall with no hesitation.
It took them a while there to find the right place
but giving up, well, that wasn’t his case.
So with an address in his hands and good luck, too,
he left the town hall and his eagerness grew.

…Excited but nervous, ready as well,
he reached out his hand and rang the bell.
But what a surprise when the door opened wide
and a little woman stood inside.
It wasn’t his mother,
that he could tell,
he felt it in his heart and in every cell.
He remained polite, though, and asked if she knew
of a couple, that should live here, too.
He introduced himself as an old friend,
for he wasn’t sure she would understand.
The woman shook her head
and told him with regret,
that the people who lived here were long long dead.
Killed by a fire which burnt down the flat.
No one survived but a baby, she said.
When he heard those words, he lost his breath,
he fell to his knees and prayed for death.

He lost his purpose, his only goal
and it broke his soul
and his heart as well,
he was a man no more,
just an empty shell.
With a hideous scar that spoiled his face,
he was an orphan who belonged no place…

Suddenly, a calm voice spoke,
it caressed his ears,
made his lips shake
and his eyes fill with tears.
It belonged to a girl with velvet black hair,
she made him feel better just standing there,
with her hand on his shoulder and her words filling the air.
And it was then and there he fell in love with her.
They left together and never looked back,
she showed him things no one’s life should lack.
And although their paths had parted one day,
the love she planted in his heart did stay.

In ten years’ time, life changed a great deal;
he had a son, whom he loved much
and a perfect life, if there is such.
He was happy now.
And more than that,
though it took a decade,
the scar on his face began to fade.
As well as the pain that possessed his heart
before he let go of his painful start.
The scar lost its colour but it was clear as day,
it will never completely fade away.
John Doe was more than fine with this,
“it isn’t just a scar, that scar of his,
it serves as a reminder of who he is.”

The poor boy from the orphanage nearby
was poor no more
and this was why.

The sounds of church bells and the pleas of pastors saying "do not fear for God is near" echoes in my ears as i watch my father leave his temple to walk with the almighty.
The warmth of his hands began to fade into cold, and lifeless limbs i did not recognize.
Lingering sounds of a flat line accompanied by your voice of despair to let my father go.
That was when the first few petals fell.

Your vivacious smile accompanied by your long midnight hair was buried within the garden under the dead apple tree. 
The whispers of silence were deafining to your ears as you wet your pillows with the taste of brandy on your lips and the black streaks ran down your cheeks.
The once so full flower was beginning to thin. 
My hands turned cold as yours pulled away into those of another who was not my father. 
A rose petal fell. 

Time ceases to stop or slow down except when we are feeling melancholy.
But time with you was like taking roses off of a thorny bush with your bare hands; delicate and painful.
Just like you and i.
A child was left for the elders, but little did they know, she was an old soul.
I saw the sadness projecting through your eyes as you were trampled by this concept we call life.
I attempted to be of aid to you mother, but the demons wouldn't let go.
Little did i know your demons could wither a flower.

White oleander ran through your veins as you put those little white pills into your mouth.
A rose petal fell.
Then the day came where you were flying high. The sounds of white noise and tear drops hitting my skin haunt my dreams as i learned of the rose being taken away from me.
But did you know mother?
Did you forsee the quick end to a great future?
I did not; however, i knew there was not going to be much of a story to tell if you did not stop playing with the thorns.
But like a flower, you were delicate.
I guess that is where i get it from.
With every beautiful flower comes a root.
The last rose petal fell.

All that is left is a seed and thorns.
But to make a new flower, you only need the seeds.
A rose is like a Phoenix; the flower dies, but the seeds are reborn.
You left me with a seed of your life that i can use to continue to blossom into a beautiful rose like you.
And one day, my petals too will fall and wither. 
But my flower wont be made weak with thorns, but strong with them.
The thorns i have will be my story even as my thorns watch my petals fall to the cold damp soil that is my pillow.
Every petal falling is a different ending.
Your rose died with you.
Just like my fathers died with him.
But my petals wont fall.
My petals will one day wither to only be replanted again.

There's a small town,
South of North Dakota.
Nobody's ever heard of it,
not a single iota.

In the town there lived a man,
who went by the simple name of Dan.

He never really sought after all of life's pleasures,
because it was in serving others that he saw hidden treasures.

The joy of living,
Dan knew quite well.

But his biggest accomplishment,
to nobody did he tell.

See, Dan never had any kids of his own.
For most of his life, he was completely alone.

No family he had.
No nieces not nephews

No dogs or cats,
nor sisters nor brothers.

Nobody to feud with,
for Dan kept no lovers.

But there's a secret Dan kept,
and I'll tell you today.
That Dan saved the world, in his own special way.

See Dan was a laborer;
he worked and he toiled.
To support himself,
and keep his house on good soil.

Dan saved his money,
he lived cheap and frugal.
For Dan had a plan, which he thought was crucial.

"Build an orphanage in the town, for all the lost children."
Because when Dan was young,
he had no house to live in.

At night his back would ache,
and his feet would hurt.
But this was okay to Dan;
he wanted keep the orphans from sleeping on the dirt.  

So when he passed,
Dan left a book and a note.
"To the bank take this paper, do not say by whom this book was wrote."

The pages had instructions,
and detailed schemes.
For an orphanage for the town,
the home of Dan's dreams.

The bank took the paper,
and showed an account.
That for even the richest person,
would have been a great amount.

And so the home was built,
the walls were made.
An orphanage for the children,
a home for those in need.
And it all started because of Dan,
who decided to serve instead of lead.

Although I may never get to meet
the woman who carried my soul
through the cosmos inside her body
from a winter's frost to a spring's warmth

I'll be grateful for the one who
spent her blood, sweat and tears
holding me in her arms, guiding me
through a journey called life

Without a doubt, I'll stitch them both
into my heart's core as they were
generous in taking time to sculpt me
into the person I am

An emotionally orphan.

Thrown away like garbage.

Like our blood ties are cut off.

By the scissors of regret.