the garden.

another poem from the 'ian.' period.

one day, i sat down and questioned the rose.
"why do i search so for something which eludes me?"
the rose answered not.
"is it the beauty?" i asked.
the rose again said nothing.
"is it the comfort of blanketing arms?"
silence still.
understanding the quiet, i proceeded to do the same.
i stared at the rose,
my eyes glared at it's dew soaked petals.
it's colors bled into my pupils.
then it answered,
no words,
merely realization.
"i understand." i said.
"in love you need not understand, you merely need to be."
one day i sat down in a garden and questioned the rose.

ian.