Dead Red Rose

I think about the fallen rose
Lying on the ground: dying where we fought.
If I go back, would it be to late?
Could I save the rose;
Could I save us from this shattered fate?

The red rose is dead.
I tell myself this, over and over again.
As many times as I repeat the words;
they just won't sink in.
I want to believe it's still alive.
I imagine the thorns like your skin;
it makes me jump every time I touch it.
The soft petals remind me of your lips,
and all of our kisses.
They are closed to seal in our love.

In order to move on with my life,
I have to see the rose.
To know if it's alive or dead.
In moments it seems,
from the random thoughts in my head;
I have made my way through the cold twlight,
To where the rose lies.

On my knees I reach towards the rose.
As I lift it up, a few petals fall back to the cold hard ground.
I closed my eyes to slow the tears.
After a brief moment and a sigh;
I look up to the night sky& see the full moon
shining back at me.
With another sigh and a few moments
to bring myself back together, I stand.
With wearing legs, and the rose in hand.

When I turn around
all I could see was your deep eyes.
So I closed mine, shook my head,
and tried to walk pass you.
With an arm around my waist;
You hauled me in my place.
"Am I too late?" You asked.
For a moment all I could think about
was your breath on my forehead
and your hand on my side.

You put a new rose in my free hand and
take the dead rose.
Putting it on my lips you sayto me, 'kiss'
Then you do the same.
Next you place the dead red rose
on the cold hard ground where we fought.
Yoy come back and put the new rose in my hair.
I ask you,
"How many times are you willing to do this?"
Your answer: "Every time you cry when the red rose dies."