Inspired by this photo: (The Last Goodbye)
I took the roses that you left
dried, crumbled, dead;
went upstairs into the rain
to see where you had fled.
I did not know
why you would go
until I saw the mirror;
The visage made it clearer.
How long have I been dead?
How long before you left?
The roses tell me you were faithful
At least a little after death.
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Comments/critiques most welcome.
Note: Unfortunately, this seems to be the only sort of poetry my pen can handle. I've tried, again and again, to write something happy and besides some little one-verse things, I've failed. Dismally. So I stick with what I know. I'm alright with it. Hope you like it.
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