The Choosing


I feel a sense of turmoil

A hanging out to dry, voile
Feeling so betrayed, soiled
Dirt falls, lays upon the coil. 
Tears so shed they fever up the nose. 
Referenced each heart to a rose
Roses run and roses close
On a page, a short verse prose 
How could I think the man is mine
Dreaming of him in my space of time
Not breaching the word that's of a kind
Would make him feel the fine fine line
Rabbit hole beckons, life's work arrives
Sacrifices, losses, everything for which you've strived.  
There before, flickering beyond, behind the lover's eyes 
The choice, the choosing in the good byes 
Hand me the hanky hide the swelling eyes 
I'm a woman, a passionate stranger with ties
He's a man with tears and his own set of I's  
No more, no less what is is, or who cries. 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

So full of my own set of metaphors forgive my self indulgences. think shakepeare and Kentucky derby run for the roses.  My two very significant others ties to Roses...

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