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rofan 17h
to write
to write words that were forever spoken
within
words that might leave
but never disappear
like a rose it lives, it dies
so it becomes part of a new life
today i might no longer speak
i might no longer hear
.
today i am only
and i am only me
alone in a part of something,
that is forever awaken
so the more i feel
the less i believe
.
like the sun
it gave light
to the moon to be bright
i want my words
the fingers that once wrote
it gave certainty
Infinity to my world
so sun,
i hope you never get enable
to make your light reach to every spot of the earth
not like my own words
that never reached
the only rose
that i wanted to reach.
Oh dearest of friend,
After many disconsolate moons
It seems I’ve begun to wither
Down the blue sky
I must bloom:
The rose on the thorn!
I married him.
He and I the danger,
to whom one may order not to return.

Sufferings,
pondered in my heart.
You rose upon me so unexpectedly,
believing you before
now I thank my strength.

A quiet alone present
did stare at me.
You cannot wonder how I miss
your soul.
I had difficulty at the moment.

Only the last words suspended in air,
and for the space of time,
you were gone.
I held that moment to my lips,
and I let you go.

-Credits to Jane Eyre
Perhaps someday you’ll come to realize that a dandelion holds just the same amount of beauty as a rose
Gardenia.
It smells like the Titanic:
Grand.
(Before everyone died)

Rose.
It looks like the Hindenburg:
Stunning.
(Before the explosion)

You.
Make me feel like a cloud:
High.
(Before it rains)
Spines cut, and petals soft
I was your delicate rose
a fruity vanilla scent
thrilling the bone
of my dearest Oliver Mccombs.
Blossomed so pure
I was beautiful, and gentle.
Though damaged
without my spines;
I was defenceless.
you left me weak
Daniel 6d
True beauty comes not in the redness of a rose
But its desire to be seen
astraea 6d
your name on my lips,
a whisper in the night
-ten thousand enunciations,
do you even know my name?
what’s my name?

they fall like rain
white and pink and red and blue,
fluttering wings, little butterflies
you call them pretty,
as they cascade to the floor,
little whirlwinds,
tiny storms.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

in my dreams,
you twirl me around,
soft hands in my hair,
eyes on mine,
golden mornings and moonlit nights.

each morning, morning i wake in your arms,
every night we’re under the garden’s bridges,
a soft waltz,
for softer caresses,
and yet the petals fall all around.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

i don’t dream anymore,
all my days i lay in the sunlight
-dreams of mornings fill my head,
as i grasp rose petals,
strewn like dreams all around.

summer turns to winter,
spring won’t come for me,
the last spring i’ll ever know,
there are rose petals on top of me and i’m six feet below.  

roses, roses,
they all fell down,
you didn’t pick up my petals
so now i’m ashes in the ground.
(song)
The secret of love,
Of remaining together...
Is not what everyone supposes.
It is not always the bringing of gifts,
The candlelight dinners
Or bouquets of roses.
After the bloom is off
these loving flowers,
Irritations and troubles arise.
There are clashes
Over little things.
And lovers forget
The vows they made so easily,
Violating them with anger.
Old resentments from the past
Rise up to poison with enmity,
The nearness that will not last.
Those with wisdom shun these fights,
The sad agony of lonely nights,
Lying awake and wondering
If love still exists, or if one matters,
To the other, if one cares at all.
Over time, self-protection grows,
And the lover builds a rancorous wall
Where weeds choke sunlight from the rose
And the other cannot hurt you.
But the play still goes on,
Like a song that still repeats,
Over and over unnoticed.
And a pantomime of caring
Begins to form, with hollow smiles
And half-hearted promises.
The Rose now lists against the wall,
Pale and tamed, like a common plant,
A vegetable in a kitchen garden.
And lovers expect passion
From a dreary fruit like this?
But once in a thousand times,
Deep roots that began long ago,
Giving rise to the first flower of love,
Last beyond boredom, thirst and drought.
Thorns pierce their hearts through the wall,
Bringing tears of surprise and recall.
The lovers find after the rain:
They have what they have sought.
And that which they sought is all.

Summer 2018
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