Death blooms with each rose,
As beauty comes, then dies away,
It falls to the benumbing ground,
Into an abyss filled with formidable sounds
Blowing softly, the wind calls my name
Rose petals fall and storms erupt and flood into my brain…

When the last petal clings, wilted to the thorned stem…
Will I regret the paths that I have treaded?
Will I forget the things I once dreaded?
Will I forgive my own mistakes, or curse my name in loathing vain?
Will I have remorse for not ever hugging my mother?
Will I have a sudden pang for only silently forgiving my brother?
Will I have afflictions of not talking to my father; will I condone myself for not wanting to?
Will I wish I had pardoned my Uncle and his family for the cruelty they had spread into my life?
Will I think that I have chosen wrong instead of right? Will I desire that I had chosen differently?
Will I cry over cruel things I have said to my Aunts?
Will I despise myself for the hate I have felt towards my Grandmother?
Will I wish I had befriended my cousins that live so near?
Will there be an annoying bitterness in myself for not spending every second with my continuously growing family?

When the last petal falls…
Will one person come to me,
And say that I am forgiven.
Will they forgive me for the darkness, that at times inhabited my soul?
Will they have one memory of goodness or of joy?
Or will my memory vanish into the sky, as my ashes will vanish into the earth.

When the last petal falls what of my name will they recall?