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Love and Roses

This is not a poem.

A petal falls; the rose is red
Did it ever fall?
A second falls; the rose still red
Perhaps it was not needed. 
A third one falls, a fourth, a fifth
Doubt blossoms in their place.
A sixth one falls, and countless more
Why do I still count?
Two are left, then those fall too
Were they ever there?

February Mornings

The soft yarn of red mittens rub against my cheek; a hollow attempt at bringing warmth to the blushing skin against the chill of February mornings. Clouds form with each breath I take, fading as quickly as they came. A rabbit must have tread across the sparkling snow, its footprints the only evidence of its midnight scamper. And those too, are beginning to fade. Sunlight sifts through the veil of trees, dappling the snowy forest floor. Glistening pools here and there trickle slowly into the stream, which snakes through the forest, the ice atop it imperceptible to one's eye. Icicles adorn the branches, preparing for a Snow Queen who will never come. A pile of nuts are strewn across the snow, perhaps dropped by a startled squirrel, frightened by the smiling moon. It needs not worry now, the moon has returned to her tranquil slumber as her brother stands vigil. He reaches his arms out towards me, but I am too far away to be enveloped in his embrace; I reach out and interlace my fingers through his instead.

Magnolia Lane

A songbird sings in the distance, soft melodies drifting over sunlit clouds. The sun is setting in the west and lavender skies blush as the evening wind whispers greetings I will never comprehend. Magnolia trees line the narrow street, their pale velvet petals drifting slowly to the ground. I am careful not to step on them; my shoes too profane to tread upon the sacred blooms. Soft, I tread quietly, soft, the petals fall, soft, the warm light begins to fade as night insects start their song.

Impression of Youth

This is not a poem.

The fervor of the night has yet to fade, 
to cease its manic buzz. 
Counting breaths like counting sheep; 
I have lost count. 
Cars race by on the highway below; 
my heart races faster than them all.
Tic toc tic toc, seconds pass like passing clouds, 
floating past the silver moon.
Shouts and laughter echo, 
in my head and in my mind,
or from upstairs?
Slow down, stop.
The world is at a standstill.
Not a sound from the window,
my mind is silent.
Rushing water, reduced to a trickle,
so are my thoughts.
A dance of bodies, a dance of souls,
is all I can remember.
All trying to taste freedom,
in one night's short hours.

Socrates on Death

From Plato's Apology

"If it is a complete lack of perception, like a dreamless sleep... If death is like this I say it is an advantage, for all eternity would then seem to be no more than a single night." 

Thought

Isn't it funny how easily children say "Let's be friends" but as people grow, saying such things get more and more difficult?