The Rose In My Hand
I hold a rose in my waiting hand,
it feels alive and soft and light as air;
and I weep for him in a new land,
far off past the clouds- a place fair.
Our love was like this rose so fresh and new,
then, he was gone- his bloom now grows above;
all I have left is a rose wet with death's dew,
and sweet, sweet thoughts of him to ever love.
I stand and weep- then, rose changes slowly,
his soft petals wither and fall, he fades;
I fall upon my knees with words holy,
his bright crimson, now gone to inky shades.
Dark wine, berry, raisin stained he fades, to dead,
my love is gone- in life his petals were bright red.
____________________________
August 2, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/The Rose In My Hand
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1059-533-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment