She drifted in and out of view

passing from gossamer to stone,

floating and then, sinking down low,

singing the words you wrote for her,

the sound now a sick cacophony

mocking your emotions,

stabbing at your heart.

Holding the now faded rose

that you had pinned in her hair,

but truly, a thorn in her side

had been your gift to her,

the beautiful bloom

was invisib...

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I saw a rose 

In a small glass vase 

It looked so fragile and helpless 

But yet beautiful and sublime. 

Could I touch its petals 

Without causing the harm 

that would damage 

this wonderful thing? 

Could I breathe onto 

its fine leaves 

And leave no sign of human interference? 

Let it live on in its own peace?  

My lovely lonesome rose 

Do not ...

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