The Rose In My Hand

I hold a rose in my waiting right hand, it feels alive and soft and light like air; and here, I weep for you in a new land, far off above the clouds- a place so fair. Our love was like this rose so fresh and new, then, you were gone your bloom now grows above; all I have left is rose wet with death's dew, and sweet, sweet thoughts of you to ever love. I stand and cry- then, rose changes slowly, her soft petals wither and fall, she fades; I fall upon my knees with words holy, her bright crimson, now gone to ink like shades. Red wine, berry, raisin she fades, to dead, my love is gone- above his petals bled. ____________________________ August 2, 2018 Poetry/Rhyme/The Rose In My Hand Copyright Protected, ID 18-1048-047-01 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.