wilted roses
vision blur
fruitless
tease
waters of life
mirrored puddles
garden of roses and ashes
the infidelity of love
plastered beauty
queen of delight
wilted roses
the rose
is still growing,
already beginning to bloom.
each red petal
spreads out
trying to soak up
the radiance of the sun.
with each glistening
drop of dew,
the rose grows,
matures,
blooms.
till one day
when the petal falls.
but i'll be there
to catch it,
keep it,
treasure it.
vision blur
i saw black,
now i see grey.
has anything changed
or have i stayed
the same?
fruitless
cast down the hopes
that have bore no fruit,
for the plants
that have no buds
do not burst into blossom
and cannot grant the gifts
that moisten the mouths
and water the palettes
of all.
she seemed to shimmer
before my weary eyes.
every step she took towards me
was a step nearer to heaven.
the swing of her hips,
as her skirt slid across
the thigh that led,
and slid again
as the other advanced.
her short, blonde hair
bounced with each step,
like the leaping of my heart
with the anticipation of her approach.
her ruby lips
cut through the graceful designs
formed by the peaks
and valleys of her tanned skin
and they leapt out at me,
beckoning me closer.
the blue reached inside
and grabbed hold
of my heart.
she came to a stop
standing before me.
her eyes blazed.
her lips formed a smile.
but as i leaned towards her,
she gave me a harsh slap
with her small, open hand.
We all try
in some way
to plan our lives,
but how can we
when so many things
and so many people
come through our lives
unexpected?
It is unavoidable.
But you can always deny
their very existence,
and you can live through it,
trying not to experience
but you'll end up not notice,
and you'll end up losing:
losing the thing or person itself,
or the myriad of tangents
that sprout off
from that one occurrence
or one acquaintance.
You can always sit
soaked in the waters of regret
staring back
and dreaming
of what could have been,
but chances are
you'll only be missing more
sitting there
daydreaming.
a tear
out of love,
pain,
and fear
as it slides,
drips,
and falls,
i wish
that someone was there
to catch them all.
these drops
which fall from my heart
are from the blood
that is spilt
from the death of emotions.
and as you watch
as a mirrored puddle forms at my feet,
look closely
as it forms the shape
of a broken heart,
with your face upon it.
i never promised you
a rose garden,
i never even promised you
a rose.
the years
that slipped between our fingers
fell away so quickly
that i failed to stay up,
so i fell further
and further behind you.
every dream you had
was a figment
of a long forgotten imagination
by the time i discovered.
every action you lived
was a page
in a text of ancient history
before i noticed.
and every word you spoke
crackled with old age
and echoed off the walls of time
before i ever heard.
the dust had already piled high
and the grass
had grown long
and filled with weeds
before i realized
that you had lived
and died.
my arms lie shaking
in the pain
of all of the embraces
they never offered.
my lips quiver
in the sorrow
of all of the kisses
i never bestowed.
my heart skips
from the emptiness
that i had filled it with,
while ignoring all
with which
you had wished to give it.
i cannot kiss you
as you lie in your grave,
nor can i embrace you
or open my heart.
but i can offer you
that rose
i failed to gift you with.
i can plant that garden
of roses
which you so deserved,
even if i must fertilize it growth
with the ashes of my body
as i wither away
in a pain
which i could not feel
in your life,
but only in your death.
i never promised you
a rose garden,
i never even promised you
a rose.
but at last i have picked that rose
and planted that garden,
before i walk
to the far side of the world,
in order to die
far from the side
which i never deserved.
You whore!
That's right, you heard me correct.
If you can't take it, then leave.
I'm not holding you here.
What? Your pay!
How can you be so bold?
With the job you've done!
I could have had better,
With my wife!
this beauty
plastered on a page
of a magazine
has no measure
when compared to you.
beauty she has,
but a beauty-
black & white.
a beauty-
mass-produced,
distributed worldwide.
Your beauty
has the color
that has leaked from her face,
has the uniqueness
that had left her
the moment the flash burst.
your beauty
is painted
in all of the colors
of the rainbow,
and your beauty
is mine to treasure,
mine to admire.
your beauty
is in my eyes,
not the eyes
of millions worldwide.
watch!
watch as the portal opens:
the gateway to her kingdom.
follow!
let us go there
hand in hand.
we can call on her
at her royal palace.
in her magnificent chambers,
with walls of happiness
and furnished with joy.
look at she emerges
from her rose-blossom bedroom,
the radiant glow of gaiety
shining down on us.
as she sits
on her throne of jubilation
we will all be filled
with a moment of ecstasy.
and forever after
when a moment of elation
or a period of rapture
takes control of us,
we will walk once again
through those meadows of bliss
and we will remember her,
the queen of delight,
and our happiness
will only grow-
deeper
and stronger.
take2
1-800-BE-A-POET
flag burning
wilted rosepetals
impotence