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Delicacy resides in the nectar of a withering white rose,
she holds the beauty of an angel in-the-midst of madness-
Although her purity brings majestic sanctity to the world,
to me she brings a sense of uncertain joy and sadness.

I held a bouquet of white roses the day we both wed,
outlined with lace and green leaves all around-
It was the most beautiful day my life will ever see,
for finally the love of my life had been found.

He gave me three white roses the day Lexie was born,
one rose for each of us, now a complete loving family-
I have all three dried up in a scrapbook I made,
so that one day our love for her, Lexie would clearly see.

I laid two white roses on his tomb that chilly March day,
one for his love for me and one for my eternal love for him-
I ended up keeping the one on the left to keep near my heart,
so I can hold onto it when I lay and weep in days of dim.

That white rose has withered into a dusty grey memoir,
a forever symbol that true love is born when two fall in love-
It lays gently on his ol’ nightstand I still haven’t moved,
for it is a connection to his sacred wings fluttering up above. 


Fictional Write

November 3, 2016

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