When Roses Die

When Roses Die

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?

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