An Ode: The Thorns of the Rose

Just what philosophy has the core?
for one, to hear it is to deny it, and thus perish from within…
but to hear and to obey is to place a finger in the candlelight -
and in jade, in red, in indigo,
heartraindances homeward
(as the rose drawn away before you can inhale).
A tastenot soon forgotten,
and names you'd rather not remember
(except for in the most clandestine of corners
where not even you can see),
And it feels more wrong than death and life,
entwined and parted, entwined and parted,
entwined and parted.

Dried roses on the sea
creased petals at the heels of the silver spray,
trailing faithfully, perhaps to death,
perhaps to life,
perhaps to the end of the blue, where the shadows grow long,
but ever-following,
chasing its own longing, which belonged to the soul, once…
Maybe still.
Midnight chariots carry them to you, in a dream,
or so I had hoped…
Perhaps a reflection cannot be read by a photograph in a bottle.
Sorry, should I have kept it with me?

Oh, this cove in the limelight of Heart's shocked demise,
and certain Reason, the sombre funeral;
where thoughts drifted behind a veil, slow as the sunrise,
invariable, because others have watched it slip away
(and far beneath the surface),
have seen the glass slipping along life's tides
unfaltering, as all days of bleak

Letters, written, for certain…
but sent? In no way
(without exception, says the voice of the first time).
Only chance could place them in your eyes -
only chance, now;
is it acceptable to breathe?

Behold…what is forever? always?
Daft compositions to content the mind?
Promise - crushed with failure,
like the pretty diamond one never thought would break.
Maybe it wasn't a diamond.

April 29, 2005

A/N - I just sat down and wrote this out of the blue…Ironically-timed inspiration, for sure.