An Old Rose; a Little Death

The buds of my heart lay withered
As the tips crisp over and float away
Into a world that has no meaning
Only to rest their final rest alone
Pressed in a book
On the same page forever
Water cannot bring me back to life
Earth and soil will do no justice
Only the hands of the past can quench me
And bring me back to life

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem