Tag: Rose

I pick a wilted rose from ashes
So grey, so cold—the fire gone.
The anger once again relapses,
As I want no part in the vow.

I do not care for its sweet promise,
As underneath are only thorns.
A flower that I want to vanish
With all of its unspoken words.

I watch it burn and turn to cinder—
Symbol of unrequited love.
For me, from me—my fingers linger
On what once was a ray of hope.

So red, so promising, so fragile,
It was a failed attempt at life.
But I don’t care for tender whispers,
Be they from my own grieving heart.

“For me, from me… I do not want it.
I don’t want what you want to give!
You’ve never loved me! I don’t want it!
It’s now too late to still forgive!”

I picked a wilted rose from cinder,
So red, a love I don’t deserve.
I look down at my bleeding fingers…
Huh… I was right… (It) had only thorns…

– Patricia