As the world continues in its path
As if nothing as happened
The cherry blossoms on the trees
Had all but faded into nothingness

I sit in the dark corner
Watching the traffic goes by
A white rose clutched among my fingers
How can roses be white?

My heart feels like its bleeding
Tramautised beyond repair it is
Better have a pump than
To have a heart

The burdens it brings, neverending
Emotions it has, overflowing
And the cup runneth over
Who shall clean up the mess?

Man is absorbed in his own sphere
Busy pursuing everything
But who will notice the little boy
Crying in that little corner?

All he needs is another hand
A comforting touch
A heart to heart embrace
But as roses can be white
And so the boy continues to bleed

Dying would seem as sweet now
For the other half of my soul has been ripped
Crudely taken away from my very arms

I am never alone because I have Loneliness
And Drink is never absent from my lips
Whilst Sorrow sticks to me like no tomorrow
Why are they all around me?

The white rose needs life more than me it seems
It wouldst be cruel to deny the rose a chance
When I want to give it up

There! Rose, be red and strong
Live in my stead and see the world
And perhaps when I see you again
You can tell me stories of what I missed

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4 thoughts on “Farewell

  1. Two palms irrevocably launched at the measly speck in the darkness;

    There! I caught it,
    the irritable insect of dubiety that has been incessantly buzzing around your tomes.

    With any luck, hopefully I have nabbed the right pest. I fear these hands might have closed on an elusive butterfly..

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