Roses Rising
I keep with me
a dying rose
which sleeps beside me
on the pillow.
Once alive it lies now in between
life and my pillow-side breathing
which doesn't allow it to expire
even though it should.
It fell in a swift spiral
from your funeral pyre
and I plucked it up
as a sign
you gave
that we'd remain
for ever close;
forever in love.
On the first night
it quivered from my breath
and I breathed more
and seemingly
that rose contained your soul
and was inspired nightly
to new life
from my warm expirations.
They all think
I am grief-drowned
and will recover soon
but no
they don't understand.
It is not the rose I keep
but the soul
within that sleeps
beside me
each night since.
If spirits live,
and I am sure yours does,
mine reaches yours
in our sleeping rose.
Nineteen
its clear
was too soon
for you to go;
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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