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Tuesday, November 17, 2009
White Roses
The light shines right through the window,
the light touches my face and I open my eyes.
I put on shoes and walk towards the anxious door,
down the hall until I'm outside.
I see my rose garden and I walk over it and I only hope, that you'd be there standing in the middle of it all.
In routine I cry enough tears to feed my white roses into a blossom.
The liquid travels down my cheeks then dampening the ground black creating a life for such beauty.
I'm tired of doing this every time the sun rises, I stand like an Owl in the night with big teary eyes frozen still waiting to kill a mouse.
I'm sick of being dead so I wonder when It'll be my turn to blossom into life.
I hate the memory of you just like the sounds of sirens in a silent night.
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