Would you leave me
red roses at the bottom of
a waterfall?
Left scattered there;
beauty battered
by force of the falling water,
like shells squeezed to fine sand
or hearts haunted by horrors past.
Were they meant for the dead?
An homage to beauty, bygone
days of light love.
I am alive
I think.
Should I take a rose to try &
keep it alive also?
Should they remain
at the foot of the waterfall,
imprisoned by gravity &
wet through
with memories?
I can make them live on.
I can give a single red rose
new meaning, tied
to the beautiful face,
the most beautiful place
on, in and of the earth