Wilted

I am a wilted rose,

There's a sort of beauty in my dying.

My death was inevitable, 

To some it's heartbreaking but to others it's artistic.

I suppose there's something romantic about a dying rose,

I somehow get more beautiful as I fade away.

I am a wilted rose.

Once when I was perfect I was given by a lover,

Then pressed between the pages  of a book.

Sometimes a child would flip through and stop at me to look,

The lovers parted and the book was lost.

I miss seeing the world outside of these pages,

When I was still alive I watched the world and saw life through all the ages.

My life was taken to show love,

Love from someone who has long ascended to live with the stars above.

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

There's a sadness to this one. We are all living to die, each person, each rose. Life is but a breath that quickly fades away ... ashes to ashes ... bones and roses. Nice job!

[Ghost Writer]

Thank you :)

[wordman]

but love can bring back that rose to it`s former glory