Rare.
That's what your love is.
"Rare as a blue rose," you told me,
Rare as the promise you gave me.
What rose you give,
I didn't care,
but you gave the blue for it is rare.
I touch those roses I adore
as you put them near the house's door.
But one day, no rose arrived.
No trace of you was seen by then.
The promise you gave echoed inside of me.
It broke my heart,
shed all of me.
A rare promise.
A rare rose.
A rare love that never grows.
Why does a rose reflect the feeling that's bad?
You chose blue, it makes me sad.
But whatever color a rose may be,
it always wilts
A rare promise.
A rare rose.
A rare love that never grows.
Why does a rose reflect the feeling that's bad?
You chose blue, it makes me sad.
But whatever color a rose may be,
it always wilts
and it fades so deep.
Just like the love you promised me,
it has now wilted like the rose I keep.
~anamellie, 070906
Just like the love you promised me,
it has now wilted like the rose I keep.
~anamellie, 070906
2 comments:
Beautiful. Is it a song? Or a poem? It really describes what I meant when I typed it 'wilted blue rose'.
Thanks! :) I have been on hiatus for a long time now and I just read this comment and it is inspiring to know you like it. Blue rose is still a poem though. I was planning to turn it into a song.:)
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