Shimmering
summer
sunsets
slide
away
as memories
do not
fade
but become
all
that I have
left.
I'm reminded of a childhood friend. Sweetheart. Told of my feelings, I had nothing to hide from her; yet received nothing back in return. Before we parted she told me of a poem she had written - "Who will offer me a rose." She thanked me for my 'rose', told me that it would be cherished always; a fragrant blossom dried in the pages of her mind, to be stumbled upon, from time to time. A memory of me.
Trees
undressing slowly
a rainbow
of outfits
discarded
to the earth
leaving
stark
bleak
skeletons.
Many years have passed since childhood innocence. Again I have offered a rose. Please don't let my rose die. Do not leave it to be a faded memory in a book, till time takes its toll and all that is left is dust. If time must be taken to decide the fate of the rose, let it be in hope. Let the rose have the chance to blossom again, to bring more and more joy with each passing season. With this rose I plant the seeds of my love. It is up to you to keep it nourished.
Winter
melts
like the covering
on my heart
and new growth
blossoms
everywhere.
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