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| http://abstract.desktopnexus.com/wallpaper/271642/ |
I
myself stand alone,
In
the field where her flowers use to grow.
Looking
down at dirt patches,
Hearing
sorrow filled words of passer-by’s,
Knowing
full well why the others did cry.
As
I stand where she too once had,
Standing
where our lives remained spent,
I
wilt as the petals once had,
I
droop as my torments commence.
Take
that of my dying last breaths,
Hold
hands with those who need no regrets,
Give
pity to men who fall slow,
Reach
out, deep breath,
Let
go the rose.
Hours
longer, days of night,
Fire
burns, that ice is bright.
Her
hand holds cold,
Hear
the beating of the lost and forgotten soul,
Hear
the cart, come to take all.
As
I myself stand alone,
Watching
as others do fall slow,
I
am living without regret,
Holding
your dying breaths.
Look
at me and you reflect,
Why
you hold her petals spent,
I
alone hold the rose,
As
am I the walker,
Of
the lonely road.
