The Memorial Rose

A single Rose beneath the wood
sprouts from where my Earth once stood,
before it crumbled to the dirt
and left me here unsheltered.

The winds fought hard and thunder flashed
as I took cover in hopes it passed,
but the mighty thunder took its prey,
and left me here unguarded.

I closed my eyes so not to see
my walls crash down in front of me.
As rain washed over things I loved,
and left me broken-hearted.

The sky grew harsh as it beat down
my precious castle to the ground,
when the Sun peaked through and confirmed my fears
that I was left with nothing.

And with wistful eyes I did look back
at the keepsakes that my heart would pack,
as I walked away from conquered walls
and went to start anew.

A year had gone when I ventured back
to the grave of the night all things attacked,
and those bright red petals through debris
broke down the walls of my lost memories.

The Memorial Rose reminded me
by rising from crumbled adversity,
that even Memories left in the dust
can always rise from the ashes.

A Fine Romance

It’s a twisted method, up and down.
Of whole yeses, then firm nos.
Of sunny nights and stormy mornings
And finally letting go.

There’s two who can’t resist the urge
but wipe away their tears
of indecision and love long tested
by consumption of their fears.

Then there are those friendly friends
who don’t know what to do
after a hazy night and blurred confession
of forgotten “I love yous”.

There’s the girl who goes alone
because that’s the easiest way --
To hold it in and not look back
at the hand that swung her way.

Next there’s He, consumed by anger
of built up frustrated lust.
He drove away his true affection
and left his second chance in the dust.

Don’t forget the lost lovers
guarded by stretch of land,
who feel alone and on their own
because they can’t reach a comforting hand.

Finally there’s two estranged together
but apart in many ways.
They scorn the now and don’t know how

they ever made it through the days.

It’s up and down
and never stable --
This story called Romance.
It dilutes itself by long told fable
and takes victims who fell for chance.

One full moon some will escape
and leave the clouded myth.
Over hills, in hand they’ll pray

that True Love does exist.