Blue Rose

Past the pink haze and mist, lies a cold, callous field,
the frosted-over bluebells, and geraniums clinking together softly 
as glass would sound during a toast in an unripe wedding.

However, hence the crippling cold lay a single blue rose, blooming, 
fragile petals of cerulean fading to mellow azure fluctuating in unison to the
beating wind which cut down even the surrounding trees. 

Blue rose , when we are committed to the earth again will you anchor us? 

Tether us to the churned ground we walked upon. 

We build machines built to last for aeons, 
but all which remain are the blue roses which mark our graves. 

Blue Rose, will you remember me?