o is it a rose red sorrow we are made to bear
in wisps of dreams that cannot be interpreted anywhere
I set my myths aside and weep
but cannot understand why is it the lovely cannot keep and
fall from us so far, so deep, and disappear
when we toil daily just to keep them here.
this is called death we learn it on our own
but nothing can prepare us when the shock hits home
when what's on loan to us only, in this world
is simply gone;
the red rose sorrow fading into white into
a Light we do not see as yet
a presence yearning we will not forget
because the weeping clouds it over
mary angela douglas 29 april 2015;17 march 2016
in wisps of dreams that cannot be interpreted anywhere
I set my myths aside and weep
but cannot understand why is it the lovely cannot keep and
fall from us so far, so deep, and disappear
when we toil daily just to keep them here.
this is called death we learn it on our own
but nothing can prepare us when the shock hits home
when what's on loan to us only, in this world
is simply gone;
the red rose sorrow fading into white into
a Light we do not see as yet
a presence yearning we will not forget
because the weeping clouds it over
mary angela douglas 29 april 2015;17 march 2016
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