As leaves dry and colors fade,
Petals become brittle and heads hang low,
A vibrant sadness acts as a mirror to the soul
A memory of what once was and resistance to let go
Who decides something is no longer beautiful, or can that ever happen?
What do you do with a dead rose?
Withered and worn are most saturated
Beauty that comes from finite, intangible
Charm is the genesis of anger and confusion
Overwhelming enchantment
Paralyzing love
Inevitable death
Yet, necessary to know the divine
What do you do with a dead rose?
