The End

A Poem by Ronda

Your words mimic
my empty feeling,
clothed in black,
standing at the foot of the
casket full of the
lasting, romantic beauty
of deep, red roses

Peering into that box,
so staunch and sturdy,
my eyes rest upon
a rusted skeleton
of a dying love
that struggles
to retain its
spirited composure
through cosmetic
touch ups

And the salt begins to
crust upon my cheek
while my figure
rises with pride,
and at once,
is tall enough
to walk through
the stained glass
doors of reality
once more