Literature
Rose
Remember when we were together?
Remember the roses you gave me?
How beautiful they were.
They had meant something to me,
but apparently nothing to you.
Of course, I've kept the roses
all these years.
There dead and withered,
full of sorrow and dark.
But they still mean something to me.
Once red and loving,
now dead and unforgiving.
Dark and evil,
dead and gone.
What once was love, good and light,
is now dust,
just a memory.
Rain falling on my window pane,
one rose in my hand,
a tear falling down my cheek.
A dead rose is all that's left.
My only proof that you were real.
But, even the rose's don't give much proof.
My ros