Red Rose

This was once a beautiful red rose, a gift between friends.
A silent promise between lovers, a vow to never end.
Something so simple, yet something so grand.
More than a friendly gesture, when you took it from my hand.
And what bloomed from that day, would bind us together.
A love meant to last, not till death but forever.
This rose was a paradise to all my pain.
This rose was the only thing that kept me sane.
So soft, so sweet, though sometimes sad.
Distant memories are now the good times we had.
No it wasn’t perfect, for every rose has its thorns.
But still you pricked your finger, and your blood filled with scorn.

And now I’m helpless, as the seasons change.
And now I only have myself to blame.
I don’t understand, why aren’t we trying?
Why do we watch the rose as it’s dying?

This rose has seen better days, days that seem ages ago.
Days you have forgotten, and days you no longer know.
Now it endures a winter, so long, bitter and cold.
This winter will never end, or so I’ve been told.
And now the red is fading, disappearing in the white.
Something once so wonderful, is almost out of sight.
It’s slipping through our fingers, the cold tearing it apart.
As the petals fall to the earth, like pieces of your heart.
I reach out for you, refusing to accept defeat.
But nothing is there, a puddle of crimson forms at my feet.
Look at the ground, is that blood on the snow?
No it’s just the rose weeping, as we continue to let it go.

And now it feels like you’re never coming back.
And now the rose turns from red to black.
I don’t understand, why aren’t we trying?
Why do we watch the rose as it’s dying?

So wrong and so lost, I barely have the strength to breathe.
But somehow I still find it, buried underneath.
I look at you and say, “Don’t you want to save this?” as I hold it in my hands.
You shiver slightly and frown, avoiding my glance.
“Why do you turn away?” I call out. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you remember what it was like back then?”
Each kiss so gentle, every touch so tender.
And now I feel myself beginning to surrender.
I open my hands as I watch you draw nearer.
I can feel your warmth, and the Light is much clearer.
This rose is too precious, this can’t be its end.
With a smile I whisper, “We’ll make it beautiful again.”