rose pedals

Held up standing in the palm of my hand
View the wish of a dieing man
Behold the beauty of a single rose
The physical manifestation of my mortal soul

Hope, fear and dreams,
As well as all the things caught between
The whole of man embodied as one
I hold it in my hand, I the dieing one
The fragrance of passion, the color of hate
The stem of fate and the thorns of pain that await

I the dieing man, hold my own life in my hands
Alone, on my own I stand
The power to create within my hands
But I now understand this, the higher plan
I crumple to me knees, breathing my dieing breath
And in the rose I see all that’s left

I see the world, the one I left
I view all the ones that I loved best
And the rose, it withers
Like a call for death to come hither
A smile passes across my lips
This is it
The pedals fall, in dried grace
And as they flutter and brush my upturned face

(And then, ash.
Pedals of ashen beauty, shining silver white.
Stinging my eyes.
At the end of my life,
the rose it dies. )