The Days of Wine and Roses

Flickering in the night, a melting’s texture of regrets afterglow, Candlelight’s waxed drippings staining the white laced table cloth, Yet in the black and white photo album of the timeless, it is a Pressed flower of remembrance, never to be forgotten, In the days of wine and roses. As champion kisses are exchanged between the Youthful hearts of the innocent, another cork Is popped, in this cozy interlude of memory’s repast, Shattered lies this tempered fragile glass, smashed Against the fireplaces inner mantel, leaving a frothy Foams liquid behind, causing the crackles embers to Burn higher with passions flame, In the days of wine and roses. Hand cut floral arrangements, plucked apart Then tossed asunder, a petals trail to silken sheets Of pleasure, sorrow’s bedding is lined with feathers Down, angel wings tender sheathing to protect the Wounded child of innocence, curled inside perfection’s Illusionary dream, evolving into a flowering silhouette of Womanhood. In shad’s refection of repose, she weeps thus diamond Tears that float away amongst the Lilley thorns, within the Rippling pool of the timeless, Oh those were the farewells for-get-me-knots, To those days of wine and roses. Valentines shaped boxes shredded into confections confetti, Thrown into the air of clarity at the ticker tape parade Of the broken heartbeat, as it explodes into a zillion pieces, Tissues spent candy wrappers used to wipe away, moistures Sorrows of regrets folly, thus the tender reed bends into The winds of emotion, Behold the tokens price of loves devotion, Back in the days of wine and roses. Vintage bouquets of elegance, tarnished with age, Yet still retaining lusters shine of everlasting beauty, The faithful clinging to the shadows of the past, Hopes dreaming romantic, waltzing in rheum with Memories of illusion, showered by petals of color, From those days of wine and roses. Flickering in the night, a melting’s texture of regrets afterglow, Candlelight’s waxed drippings staining the white laced table cloth, Yet in the black and white photo album of the timeless, it is a Pressed flower of remembrance, never to be forgotten, In the days of wine and roses. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUN