My Rose

By no means do I claim to be a great poet or even a great thinker. I am simply a man in my mid 20s finding himself heartbroken again and instead of getting easier its getting harder. This poem is about said relationship and the pain of losing it.


The deserts pale and bleakness through,
and through, it covers all with its sticky heat,
a riptide cuts deep, turning the Lovers Loveless,
writhing sinew and claws claw deep, their moans
moaning, heady, their hearts blackened, burnt
at the pyre of lust, and deceitful eyes smile in the darkness.

In this loneliness, in this void, a glimpse of Red from the beige,
out of dim. The light fades, The Rose looks down,
perhaps in shame, it casts its shadow.
Picked now for my own, this beacon, this red salvation,
adorns my sill, my soul is lifted, refreshed, fulfilled.
A love does bloom therein, so supple so full, so pure.
Day after day my ache grows stronger,
The Rose is beautiful,

The Rose wilts. I see it from my hiding place,
I see it, I fear it, I cannot bear it.
That desert Rose now lies dead in my shaking hands.
My tears it does not dry, my plea it does not heed.
On the ground I must place it, and once more the desert tread,
Alone. Empty. My Rose i will not forget you.
My Rose, I Love You.