Her Green Rose

  An ocean of remembered images and  locked moments are being seen in the garden of oblivion ,once full of life ,through the empty eyes of a spring's heart, through smiles of rain in drops of pain.

  An emotion of caressing summer from a heart ,who used to make her way to the road of eternity, lies alone and forgotten and watches the rusty dream, who used to run on the alleys of life, crowned with flowers of may...and she cries to the sound of beauty who's still running alive.

  It's her...the one who collects in her hands the lonely love of dead hearts, of dead leaves and flowers with the scent of a child's song.It's her, the one who gathers the teardrops of time, the time who use to be rocked in the cradle of oblivion.She is the one who tries to wipe off the venomous kiss of the eyes who had closed their eyes.

   In the white palms of the white rose she rocks the deaf calling, with the white fingers of the white rose she feels the breeze of death smiling,through the eyes of the white rose she crosses the warm gorge of a new beginning and by the touch of autumn she can sing to the green eyes who ended their future...she is calling for a smile stabbed with thorns so she can sing again to her green eyes.

    ...With the white moon on the purple sky, with the yellow sun shining on the sky which does not exists, she is painting the red heart in the unexisting horizon…and  winter has come.

Reviews

[Raven Starhawk]

Though short this holds a accomplished blend of greatness. Every word composed is essential to its body.