My Rose Was Not Seasonal
My cherished one...
Here I am ,alone with stone wall paper
in the silence of my room.
The pit-pattering raindrops upon my windowsill
help me to remember, outside is cold and vacant too.
Here I lay , on my dark brown couch
like on other nights and many afternoons.
Here I stay ,undisturbed ,with a pen in my left hand
Provoked to put black ink to paper
Seduced to write down unconscious thoughts
Terminal thoughts and deepest aches
wrapped in the echo of your absence.
If only you 'd knew , my rose was not seasonal
Its crimson still bleeds ,like in yesterdays , now gone.
Its perfume still lingers between forgotten postcards
and the impossibility of separation.
Its petals once blown , still float across the boundless ocean
The same ocean that moves ,that spreads breathlessly
between our lands , our lips and hands, but not our hearts
Nor the hundred fantasies that still reveal your footprints
along my distant winding paths .
Inspired by Adele's latest song - 'Hello '
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2015
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