Ode to a dying rose

Your life is so short
just a few summer months
and in that time
you have thirsted beneath the burning sun
and bowed your head to the beating rain
For all your life you have been
slowly dying
decaying and fading
but in the torn lace
and fraying linen layers
of your now fragile petals
I still see your beauty.

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The Wounded Sky

No birds or angels fly
across the wounded sky
storm clouds holding onto years
of unshed tears
clothe the sky in swirling grey
the edges fray
tearing a hole in the dark membrane
a spreading stain
of sunlight pools upon the ground
hope is found
struggling up on tattered wings
it sweetly sings

Inspired by