Roses

At times I contemplate, what if this world was not my fate. What if my birth day, just a date, and this ink not on this page. I often sink in thoughts of mine, and ask too much, a quest to find, my place in this, my fragile mind, my hurt, is it just wasted time? Would those, who love me so, feel an absence, or would rivers flow. Would the gardens, whisper slow, as a rose will never grow? Although, I’ll never know, will evil have had less chance to show? I question if I was never born, perhaps it would be one less thorn. For no one would mourn, what has never been. Perhaps they’d grief, just as they worship what they’ve never seen. You’d be mistaken to think how I lean, it’s just us who assumes how it seems. I just praise the ones who forever be, heroes and titans, who never see. Yes, we are alive indeed.