How we've grown far apart.
How I dread this wall of misunderstandings between us.
How I wish I could simply make it go away.
How difficult it seems to even speak a word if it's not being a word of hatred and anger.
Life feels as though it's leaving my eyes and flying with my soul. Ah, how I wish I could just be that soul.. Listless in the sky.. Able to breathe deep with the winter chill, to exhaust the summer thrill..
Such a beautiful clock also flows above... It ticks and tocks, but it doesn't move across that circle that cuts through metal. Quite easily, I forget what to do next.
I become confused with the ominous sounds that so burn with a whisper. The blue winds that abate such noises.. One after another, my mind wanders without pause..
The echoes boom with embers of an afterlife. Lullabies to my madness.
I showed no fear. I burned with anger, regret, and confidence to shield my way through the needles that enveloped it. Its hay wasn't visible to one so simple. One so incompetent.
How we must've laughed in our graves at the moment we saw what we knew to be. It made perfect sense. It hurt, ah, but it was fulfilling.
I loved what I did, for it was exciting; enticing, even, yet so scarred.. Such a scar I cannot forget so easily.
I laughed, and choked, and laughed again.. I loved the idea of how simple it seemed to be processed and accounted. The idea, rather, was simple, yet it bore a strange aura that made me look to the ground of black covered roses.
Roses, that I believe if to be struck by a light from heaven would not falter; nor would it shed a petal.
However, in transcience, you would see the rose turn to a white so bright, it made the heavens, the in-between, and the infinite inferno squint, but would not frighten one such who would understand this rose's beauty.
I stared in wonder as the dress of a goddess swayed in beauty when hit by something so powerful from above. I laughed, for I knew what would really hurt this poor insufferable rose. Such a simple stem within a simple garden. A garden of ideas that could agitate the rose. The rose that so simply denied any inbalance from heaven, easily angered and infuriated so that it's very roots would shiver and bite each other for the nutrients within.
This poor flower.. Doomed to end itself if it allowed itself to be near such a lustrous garden that fed on the roses "imperfections".
Gluttonous as they may be, their own roots would simply not gnaw at what holds them together.
They understood their boundries. They understood where to draw the line in their silly "perfections".
And yet, for a reason unknown to one so incompetent, they reveal their beauty of red, yellow and sapphire to the abating sun above believing they will find refuge in such a greater hell.
Their seedlings need not turn in their graves, oh no, for they must grow and laugh with their parents as they ascend into their simple life.
The rose, however, chuckles; stares at them with a sense of pity, and is simply plucked.