Underground_Network
December 29th, 2009, 07:51 AM
She is the tailored stitch
In the scarlet prom dress.
She is the ocean tide
Rising high above
The cumulonimbi.
She is the red rose
In the garden of white ones:
She sways gently in the afternoon breeze,
Her petals open up and smile to the sun.
But just as I go to pick her from the garden,
The white roses cripple and their petals
Release one by one, falling to the ground.
She, the red rose, burns a bright red,
Out-glaring the sun, and stinging--staining
My eyes.
Love patents itself in my heart
And I go to grab the rose
Pick it up and clutch it tight to my chest,
But just as I do
A green residue
Escapes from the rose
And burns my poor hand (my poor heart).
In the scarlet prom dress.
She is the ocean tide
Rising high above
The cumulonimbi.
She is the red rose
In the garden of white ones:
She sways gently in the afternoon breeze,
Her petals open up and smile to the sun.
But just as I go to pick her from the garden,
The white roses cripple and their petals
Release one by one, falling to the ground.
She, the red rose, burns a bright red,
Out-glaring the sun, and stinging--staining
My eyes.
Love patents itself in my heart
And I go to grab the rose
Pick it up and clutch it tight to my chest,
But just as I do
A green residue
Escapes from the rose
And burns my poor hand (my poor heart).