Dry, golden-crisp grass, Unscented like the flavour of water,
with chilled, icy winds blowing past.
Across a Centered Yellow gaze, of the 4 seasons Author...
I walk past a fountain... And notice right next to it a brittle rose...
Unlike any...
Barely standing up by it's fragile roots,
Half froze,
By the icy winter and yet,
It still outgrows, its circumstances...
And out-glows... The enclosed sparkle of ice around it.
So I walk closer...
Even how fragile, and just a shadow of what it once was, it still keeps me wondering...
Why go on with such a life... Not worth living.
It makes no sense, your petals, once red, stem once fleshy green,
and still it yet... Seems to be seen...
Why won't you be blown away by the cold winter wind?
Is it possible that physically you clearly show all signs of giving up, but you endure it all mentally?
...but your just a rose.
A special Rose?
Knowing that I haven't quite grasped all your true intentions. Once beautiful and simple. But now dark, bold and close to the end... Just to mention.
But still elegant and mindful.
Is that all you are? Just a simple rose...
As seen by the eyes of many.
Or it's just lies, to build a facade around them, knowing more and more that you are worth more than... Any.
