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Withered Rose
hope is gone, for the rose has witherd.
my wings lay broke
i may not fly.
his eyes are tired
lost from all color.
and i may watch
as he slowly dies.
i show no pain
no laughter
nor fear.
but he can tell from only one tear.
my garden lay lifeless
for my wing have curled
then seen torn from
my acing woons
i watch him
his memory
like movies played back to back.
those times we spent,
those times we lack
to even hav spent.
seem only a dream.
i tell you now, my withered rose
why must u make those times
frozen in my brain,
so hopeful
so close?
Keep writing...........
You're onto something.You have a particularly unique voice. It just needs to be further honed and polished so hone and polish away. Try to imagine the poems you will be writing 10, 20, 30 even 40 years from now. That is a self inspiring thought when one thinks about it. I use to do it when I was in my late teens and early 20's. My gut tells me from what I've read of yours so far that you will far surpass your own dreams of your future self if you but keep writing.......... Widen that path to the deep inner self until it is a well paved and maintained six lane highway..............Sincerely, an early fan, Melissa
thank you! I actually wrote
thank you! I actually wrote this poem a while ago. I lost my want to write for a while, but now im getting back into it. Im glad your an early fan and you make me really want to write and improve :)