Where the Roses Grew

February 27, 2010
Rain, wash it all away.
Clean my cuts and heal my aches.
Take the hurt and take the pain.
Water my blood and numb my brain.
Take my confusion; make me sane,
As I listen to the sounds of rain.

Wind, blow away the sound,
Of yelling, screaming, all around.
Fill my ears with tap and pound.
Blow my hair into a crown,
Of comfort that I never found,
While the wind will jump and bound.

Fire, burn away my past.
Take my memories, don't let them last.
Scorch my fun, and do it fast.
The pit of life; it seems so vast.
Dry the tear sitting on my lash,
As fire turns my dreams to ash.

Gravel, help me to forget.
Grind my worries and my fret.
Weave my sorrows into a net,
To catch the things I never get.
I'm too young, I can't die yet,
While gravel plagues everything I’ve met.

Roses, make me feel anew.
Suck away my sorrows like morning dew.
Sprout new life this spring on cue.
I have so many burdens, please, take a few.
In my past, I no longer see a view,
Of the garden where the roses grew.

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