I was once a rose,
in the garden that i was planted in.
I Provided myself with everything
that i needed to grow.
Well,
that's until you came along,
cursing me with your presence.
Not only did you stun my growth,
You also transmitted a virus
One that continues to foster me
in the worst ways possible.
“Behold, Ladies and Gentlemen, the heart!”
The venerable doctor professor said, holding up
The bleeding heart in his hand, fresh,
Of the young man, dead, on the table.
“Now, I cut it laterally into two,
Observe the atrium, ventricles, aorta etc.”
The heart still throbbed, blood dripped,
And thought to itself;
How little these men know!
They see the chambers and think them
To be empty.
Empty they are now, but he,
My dead man would remember
The hopes, the dreams, the loves
He held in them not so long ago.
‘I am not just a piece of flesh and blood’,
Pause awhile, butterfly,
Alight here, on this wilting Rose.
Young flowers, I know, are beckoning you,
But stay with me, just for a while
And leave me with memories fresh.
There! Now you poise, ready to take to wings
You flutter – and a petal
Falls.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
That's what they say
but it just isn't true
Roses are red
and apples are too
But violets are violet
violets aren't blue
An orange is orange
but Greenland's not green
And pinkies aren't pink
what does it mean?
To say something's blue when it isn't, defiles it
But oh, what the heck, it's hard to rhyme "violet"
The harder I gasp
the less I can breathe,
the more I sink in
the more clenched it feels
this source of life put in me,
as if it's right to hurt the way it did.
Will I never learn to not grab the rose by its thorns?
Will I ever just grab the bull by its horns?
May there be a clear sky for those who carry no worries in their hearts,
whilst the storm's ringing in my ears
-a ferocious sound of thunder clashing and lightning smashing-
loud enough only for me to hear;
for me to resist it
with no power left,
letting me fall
down, down.
Yes, she is the beautiful night
So lovely a night the stars get lost in her,
And yet from her wrists and lips unwind
The perilous dimes lost in subways--
A spiral of effluvia
We recognize as history--
The Israelites
Must battle the Arabs
Far from the moon's bright garden
In whose center blooms
The insomniac rose
And yet
She is the night of beauty
The angel whose name
Lifts the wet grass
And topples the insect gently
warm shivering body in search
of a light, for the quiver of your
lips on mine, the ghost of an
illusion delicately delivered in the
eyes of a child, forlorn dreams
slowly fragmenting at the crushing
reality of the charming prince never
to be seen. i crave for the gentle
touch of your heart to mine, for
i want love as how i love it, as
selfish as it seems; the roses pretend
to choke as i speak, this pale faced
beauty, mouth shut, numb figure dancing
alone in the silhouette of the thumping
adrenaline-filled valve once known,
once felt, never kept, forever holding
i bask in the gentle warmth
of the morning sun, lying in
the embrace of a million roses,
steeping myself in the fragrance
of an eternity coming into full bloom.
the peak of one's life unravels
in a magnificent display of vitality
and passion, as every fibre of my
young soul is elevated to another
heaven; heart soaring into the
golden glow of the new dawn
before weightlessness overcomes me,
and i sink back into my gardens.
Roses are red,
Violets are violet,
She was homesick for someone,
She had not yet met.
I can give you an infinity of roses,
because you can't blame the gravity
of love.
It's sad how...
We lose the people we treasure most.
But then,
Even Roses lose petals.
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose--
But were always a rose.