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Living Dryness
I sit there looking at the dryness
of the roses that he sent to me.
How beautiful they sit there,
Staring straight at me.
I hear the words of disapproval,
Days in and days out.
I ignore their vicious strike,
As they scream and shout.
He renders me whole,
With his charming heart.
And compels blissfulness,
To never part.
What the future holds,
I do not know.
Yet I am willing to travel,
To arrive there so.
I understand the crystallization,
Of not believing in one,
The future occurrences,
Have not yet been won.
I glace at the dying roses,
As a blessing in front of me.
For their elegance,
Radiants so wonderfully.
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