A Rose To All Poetry

Reckless abandonment

Doesn't fulfill the pages

I am more than my poetry alone

Ten roses for each summer

Equal eternity,

I match my roses with my fate

And all of its millions I subside

For it is the breakthrough I suspect...

And all of its millions

Is the millions of life,

For it is the mystery I entail;

Oh death prevails

And the sunny side wails

And these eyes see everything

Alone I rock with the pages

Back and forth,

Alone I rot with the roses

Evermore,

What is love without poetry

To call my own?

I subside in a city of words...

And roses are red, how fine they bloom!

The city is full of treason

And I prepare a prose for the rose

Who dares to dream,

I write with such brilliant intention

And all the while

I am poetry's rebellious child!

For this is a rose

To all poetry,

My heart is not respected!

And I write on these pages

My deepest words

For they rattle out the confusion

And I am back from the elements that saved me,

What lies deeper on the outside?

This creative control that I possess

Is deemed unholy...

To love is to love at my best

Such brilliant heartache I attest!

For what is love

If I can't possess

My brilliant poetry?

For a rose is a rose

For all to endure

I can't live without my art

For my art is the heart of my soul

And a rose breathes

For all eternity,

Shall I revive my soul once more?