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| All I Ask is a Moments Peace... |
| Whithered Roses adorn the dresser in my room, The reminicent fragrance of their faded glory lingers on faintly in the still air... The petals cling desperatly to their brittle stems, Their darkened heads dropping in accquiesance to age gone by. The memory of these blossoms springs fresh to my mind, That day long past when I brought them in from the garden. Young and fair, Evoking the Envy of Aphrodite herself in their delicate perfection. Now Beauty lies Dead, A husk of it's former self. So like these fragile corpes, I too whither and rot. Wasting away in the dank, vile pit of My own Despair. I was once from the Garden myself. I was Young, And Lovve my triumph and mygreif. Alas Time, venegful deity marches ever on. Our time here in Eden is brief, What we make of our moments Priceless. Once like these Roses, I too was treasured and cherished. Once I was someone's Beloved. Once I too knew Life. But tomorrow is the folley of the weak, and Hope the crutch of fools. Let me pass with dignity from this plane to the next, Let me go forth from this Hell. Where Dead things grow and thrive no more... |
| 08-10-98 |
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| Vangogh - sunflower |