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[crazy a]

dead rose


it stands there in an
empty glass vase
dried out and long dead
but staying in one piece
not falling apart
and the color has gone from
the red of life
to a dark purple of death,
not of royalty,
and it has curled down
like a cripple's hand
never to be straightened out
never to stand tall and beautiful
among the other roses
in other vases
in other homes.

[dwim]

I like the use of imagery in this. When it comes to writing poems, sometimes imagery is like a sort of a fetish to me. Good use there, it's almost like I can see it just as clear as day.

[crazy a]

Hell, I'll put it in a box and mail it to you.

[dwim]

And what? Ruin the perfect picture of that poem? You better not!

[crazy a]

HA HA!