I lost my friend under the rain
She and I use to run when we were young
We spoke of sweet hearts and dreams
sports and basketball
We shared french fries
Dr. Pepper and coke floats
She held the record for broad jump
and I was a forward
There were always tomorrows,
until I lost my friend in the rain.
She let go one day in the rain,
it was suicide…
Copyrighted: February 2018 CMM
Keats spoke of a rose and how it would not wilt.
This rose came only once and was not made of silk.
PIcked among a garden this one unique rose,
taken from the thorns, this flower she chose.
Sat upon his desk, and nurtured from the stems,
drenched in water, cut in a vase, and looking back at him.
He called the rose loveliest of any in his fences,
this rose compared to others, they had no defenses.
However the secret of this rose was not from one attending.
The secret of its beauty was truly from its sending.
This rose he said was more because a friend gave way,
now the beauty of the perfect rose was given to him today.
Swelling powdered scents flowed in the house and settled,
crimson velvet sculptured rose, green stem among the petals.
Beauty in its temporal form in nature’s moment bloomed,
View original post 12 more words