Old Flower Aged, New Rose Blooming

June 2010


Let them speak, hear them say this place is not right,
those feet are fast for running, so fast to help my face hunch over,
when before you helped move my tide, I would rather drown ashore,
just like charcoal colored sticks, burn you straight to ashes.
She says love is like a watch tower, limitless with the view,
well wait until you see her horizon, just as I look towards the see,
I look forward to those days of the week, when she walks her white furball,
I get why we no longer talk, if my past is any sign of your future steer clear.
I'm sitting here, doing absolutely nothing but aging,
why did I let the wind sweep my away, why did I get dragged on with the waves,
well I put my foot down, I refuse to let the current decide my direction,
I swim back to shore, only on this one there is no tower,
only the rose that was made, and I laid next to her just looking at the sky.
Why is a rose a rose, until it dies,
then it's just a flower, forgotten in it's red triumph,
I am a flower, who never got to his rose moment,
only glimpses of it, now i grow wings and fly like dandelions.
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