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I glanced up and noticed the vase. Like everything else in my life. The roses had withered and died. The flowers had turned dry and crisp. The smell was no longer a perfume.
And eleven seagulls flew, One for every day I knew You would think of me, and do The things we said we'd do At 7am each morning.
Wake up. There's the door. Is there a ring to it. Someone could be there. But I don't think so. I don't think there is anyone there. But you go there anyway. You open it.
(from Ode to Melancholy). Red rose. Black as midnight. Shall you oppose. With thy love I sail feather light. Red rose. Who art thou. I mean not impose. I only mean to love thee true. Red rose.
Good sits in his ivory tower A fortress made of molten words Fair maidens of his peaceful lands Sing the songs of flighty birds Evil wages war and hate High atop her ebony crag Her peoples torn by...
#nightdwellers Beneath the weeping willow tree, Are leaves of fallen glass, That shatter as they hit the earth, On contact with the grass.
One stands alone. In the sparkling crystal vase. Usually there would be more. But this is not the case. A lone petal fall. The first one of the hour. Love wilts away slowly.
As the sorrowful, blackened sky dips into the jouful warmth of the golden sun each day, the bird will fly again. It will spread its feathers - soft and fragile - to reach for the zenith of his dreams.
A heart made of wicker, hidden from view; Wilted and twisted, because of you. Barren of love, but forever entwined; You said it was forever, to the end of time.
#colour And the stag leads me out of the woods, down the hill. And here, at the bottom of the hill, looking up at the wood, we stand, stand still.
#acorn Perfect sphere of scarlet flame, The fruit, as pure as snow, The skin, as red as blood, again, An apple, Wednesday's woe.
() Light a candle | | Lift the gloom | | Place one inside | | Every room Pictures form In dancing flame ...
Vibrant crimson heads, Hidden amongst the grass, Shielded from the wind, Waiting for the storm to pass.
Before me sit the roses, Withered. Dead. And dry. A reminder of my emptiness, A final, sad goodbye.
The plastic burned beneath my fingers, bubbling acidly across the calloused expanse of my thumb.
#colour The red of freshly spurted blood, Of roses crushed to dust, Of love and danger meshed as one, Of most desired lust.
Painting my heart, Colours of the rainbow, Whenever you are here, All the colours glow. Red for fiery passion, Love, anger and fire, Red for what you yearn for most, Your fiercest desires.
I have a rose. From my true love. I keep it in my room, in a thin, blue, glass vase. It is tall and has a little bird on it. What I've wondered is what roses stand for, what do they mean.
Vast and Deep The dark Satin blue, But not As deep as My love For you. The moon Throbs, Robbing me Of sleep; Sun shed Its lonely Tears, And as They drip, So does Hope fleets.
Dreams, They never die But grow cold In the hushed midnight Don't let go Of your heart Keep the color swirls in your head, Your works of art.
The flying angel, Holding silk as light as a feather. He elegantly let the silk flow through the air like a dove. A girl below, skipping threw the flowers, her hair like ash.
Floating leaves of purple and green, Resting upon the silent stream. Moonlight kisses own reflection, Beaming virtual separation. Silk satin threads cover the chest, With hues of grayish sentiments.
On red, perfect porcelain,. In the sweet music of violins,. A single crack begins to snake,. A crimson surface now opaque,. Fading with the growing divide,. An object once held with pride,.
I've got a primrose in my pocket,. And a head full of dreams,. Yet my heart is full of sorrow,. And it's bursting at the seams,. There's a crystal rose pinned to my chest,. Right above my heart,.