i.
Our garden was a fusion
of natural colors, mixed and merged.
Mosaic petals formed
patterns of concord
in a mismatched world.
The white rose in the middle
was our tapestry of friendship,
dependant on the stalks of trust
to keep it strong.
But buds do not bloom easily
without a gentle touch.
Patience, care, and understanding
are much needed for the blossom
to open up.
Time too, is essential
for this rose to survive and thrive
With effort and a struggle
always reaching for the sky
remembering success comes not
without sweat and toil
But even that progress
is fragile at its peak
ii.
Delicate petals of persistence
were unfolded with precision
never knowing, never fearing
the pounding of the rain
that landed the first bruise.
With one wound came many
completely destroying all
external beauty
until it finally reached the core
foundation of all that exists
Discarded,
our rose was ripped bare leaving
all but sharp thorns that would
only brew displeasure
[the opposite of primal impression]
in limited days to come.
Broken down and trampled,
I watched a bouquet of wreckage,
as petals floated to the ground,
shed of the burden.
Now the rose’s sweet scent
disappears as petals wilt and rot
No seed remains to plant again
It's existence vanishes
into complete nothingness
leaving no trace of
return.
Dead things
aren't restored.
Only replaced as it is
never revived.
All that blooms will die;
sooner or later.
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