my rose is dead.

"Don't waste your time on me", She said to he, who couldn't see Beyond his blind capabilities, "For no eyes, shall ever rise More than that of the sun for you, Nor weep larger than that Of the sea , Upon salt sorrow's, "Tis my heart of heart's unabbreviated aching", he said For darkness torment's the nightgown you wear, beyond silk or cotton fabric strands, These memories do hold, behold, beware of my weakened plea, A knee bended is he, by the waking hours', to watch time fading unfairly, a ghostly apparition, drifting Into the nothingness, He can't see, Nor except to be, beyond the lights reality. For dying flowers hold no fear Towards the end, nor lachrymose any drops of sorrow, Dissipated by an empty vase Dry and ending fast, Such a thing as to watch a withered soul escape to air Before the grave, aching this tender heart, bearing weak Nor much more brave, A perpetual notion cannot heal Nor strike no deal with angel's For eyes do close a sickened heart, much faster sleep than non, her soul a beautiful ray Forevermore within the sun. Trapped inside her word's a whisper , Dancing within his ear, "For no eyes, shall ever rise More than that of the sun for you, Nor weep larger than that Of the sea , Upon salt sorrow's, "Tis my heart of heart's unabbreviated aching", he Said "I curse all loves come morrow, Her words dancing in his head, A ghostly apparition I greave my rose is dead". Nardine Sanderson 26/03/2015.