Scent of a Soul

Sparkling roses rise aloft
with the winds blowing down
the spaces between the places
created by what she called art.

Last Saturday, when the winds were calm
and the all people she loved were there.
She started to sing a song about love
then silence came and all there cried.

Can this space really be the place
they call six feet under?
too many lost opportunities
to open the casket, but no one looked.

Tranquility fills the room with the smell of roses.
Then Monday comes and away we go
racing between the places
left by the spaces in her soul.

Twinkling lights on a Sunday afternoon
send me down a deserted country road.
The smell of roses on a warm hazy night
are tempting me to lose my soul.

Away I go down the road less traveled
six feet deep the mud sucks off my shoes.
If anyone knows how to walk on water
tell me now I really need to know.

A word of wisdom to the unbelievers.
the purloin mud washes off with time
but, you never forget
the feel of the mud flowing between your toes.