ever so gently to the ground.
slowly gathering over time
similar to memories of life.
just as a rose blooms and blossoms -
so do we.
growing slowly
gaining some momentum
grabbing hold
reaching a climax.
climatical downfall seems imminent.
here is when the rose begins to wilt:
exposing layers of its inner self.
shedding light on its interior when each petal falls.
we all begin our decay,
loose our grip and fall into another's.
rose petals collect and decompose
becoming soil, something of the earth
adding itself to another.
the mental capacity loses its way -
leaving us exposed to the hands of others.
hoping karma plays a fair gamewith an equal draw on life chances.
the grande danse macabre
comes with the finally death of the wilted rose.
leaving a stem for analyzation
and to reach its own demise.
just like the human body.
yet our essence
(&the essence of the rose)
cannot be tainted by death.
memory will live on in some form or another.
telling a story of days gone by,
misfortunes overcome,
and lessons learned.
But who can forget the bees
the one's who carry us through.
When we are gone,
they pick up the pieces
continue the story and ensue on life.
