PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A Rose: I have my own special rose, he calls himself John, but he will for now, just be a rose. Not yet my rose, but he is growing on my windowsill. This rose like Thoreau's is not perfect, as not all people like roses, but to me, no other flower could smell as sweet. This rose smells the sweetest of all, it allows me to forget about any old dead flowers that have passed, and not concern myself about any flowers that later may come to be on my windowsill. For now, there is just one rose, that I am happy to have as just one rose, my mind and soul are focused on this rose and only this rose.



Because I was unsure of the condition of the rose on my windowsill, I decided to go sneaking through the forest to find other people, with their roses. Yes, I went along looking to find people who were together, to check up and see if they in the glorious presence of one another shared passion or shared and English retreat which they were taking seriously. In fact, Nature won them over, and they sat together talking about the kingdom that we as humans are presented with.  Nature felt welcome once again, and she returned to us. Many-a-flower sitting potted and unpotted on windowsills, and on leafy grounds. All beautiful, each representing another soul who deserves to be loved as sweet rose. Nature embraced us, and we embraced her. Everyone had settled to love her gift, and before we knew it, we were being summoned once again, with a deep voice, and my voice was called individually, so off I went, running, leaving Ms. Nature behind me, and catching her last whisp as I cut out and ran towards the bus.



Once I returned from nature to the loud industrialized world, I looked out the rain spattered window panes to check up on the condition of my windowsill, where I discovered nothing but some old withered petals. They appear to have once belonged to a rose, but in mourning the death of the soul of the flower on my windowsill, it was too blurry to tell if they in fact belonged to my beloved rose as I had identified them. As it turned out, this rose did wish to join all the past flowers and wanted to have me concern myself with flowers of the future. The rose had left its soil for a new flower to grow from. I could only hope that another flower would plant itself, with the desire to grow in the place that had been created for it.