Those wilted rose petals
Lay by the grave,
Trampled by the rush of mourners.
Took the time to carefully arrange them,
A welcome of sorts
But the time is too late.
I pick my eyelash,
Let it fall to the ground
Where there lay rose petals.
Wet with frost,
Wilted, trampled by grief.
More wet with tears than
The melted frost and mine is a heart
Frozen with grieving.
I look at the grave, the tombstone,
The freshly laid dirt.
There are flowers, they wilt and bow
Down to the grave marker.
I run my hands through the dirt,
Over the lettering on the headstone.
Smooth and glossy, my eyes close with tears.
They spill over my eyelids,
Falling to the grave.
All I can do is weep,
What more can be done?
I kick about the rose petals,
Wilted, wet, trampled, ruined.
I can't make my peace because
I don't want to believe that he is gone.
I know he is and it hurts,
But I think he's happier, better off now.
Yes, he is. Better than the wilted rose petals.
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