the clouds, some roses, and murder

 
 
 
the clouds are sick  
with rain,
the roses are sick
of death,
the faces of people are sick
with life.
the naked eyes see it,
the naked truth knows it,
but cares very little.
 
the hand given is
taked back.
 
the carelessness of the
human heart,
the coldness,of the
human soul.
we are murdered in the thoughts  
of others,
each a cold case never solved.
but body after body left
behind as evidence  
with love a  
smoking  
gun.