deepundergroundpoetry.com
Rose Bud
My rose grew as my tears
hydrate its bloom.
Our love is unique,
She a blooming bud,
I a stealer of breath.
I sat her in my handmade vase,
hydrating her roots each morning.
I shared my poetry,
She shows no judgement,
yet still she is but a rose,
her stillness cultivates my curiosity.
I wonder if she hears my voice,
if she feels my presence, my touch.
Can my rose be more than just a
rooted bud?
Her petals are wilting,
like burning parchment paper
over a candles flame,
each one rolls up,
slowly falls to the ground.
My rose died leaving behind
perfumed memories.
© 2017 AutisticPoet
hydrate its bloom.
Our love is unique,
She a blooming bud,
I a stealer of breath.
I sat her in my handmade vase,
hydrating her roots each morning.
I shared my poetry,
She shows no judgement,
yet still she is but a rose,
her stillness cultivates my curiosity.
I wonder if she hears my voice,
if she feels my presence, my touch.
Can my rose be more than just a
rooted bud?
Her petals are wilting,
like burning parchment paper
over a candles flame,
each one rolls up,
slowly falls to the ground.
My rose died leaving behind
perfumed memories.
© 2017 AutisticPoet
Published 4th Jul 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Anonymous
6th Jul 2017 3:38am
you may not like the fact that my ears are open wide, in other words your poem is good medicine
8th Jul 2017 7:09pm
