A Dead Rose

June 3, 2010
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Our love is as dead,
as the rose you gave me two months ago.
The beauty is forever a memory,
but it will never bloom again.

I stand on the mountain top alone,
after we have traveled so far.
Your no longer here,
to enjoy its beauty with me.

I wake up in the morning,
only to find you missing.
Your presence,
fades like each day of the year.

These scars,
forever marked by you,
will never die,
but lessen in pain by the time that passes.

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