Yellow Roses and The Music in my Head

December 19, 2017
By allie1298 GOLD, Omaha, Nebraska
allie1298 GOLD, Omaha, Nebraska
14 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"Winds in the East, mist coming in, like something is brewing about to begin. I can't put my finger on what lies in store, but I fell what is to happen all happened before."
-Saving Mr. Banks


Trees swaying in the breeze

 

Roses, the smell of your death as they grow in my brain.


Trees sway to the music that I play in my head to distract me from your pain.


The rose drops and the clock tick-tocks… time ran out for her, for you, for me.


The tree gave me hope that your roots and your love would hold me, would love me… but I gave up.


The rose painted yellow of the face I only see on my mom’s favorite frame, of a woman loving jello.


I ask if I look like the rosiness of your face if the roots of the tree in my yard connect me to yours


The trees sway to the different music. I look at your picture interrupted by a tear, a hole created there.


Feelings of not knowing how I feel, or what to do. The fear of never seeing you in my rose garden.


Trees play in the music of the tune of great loss, a different song, but never a different tune.


The yellow roses planted in the ground, they are you, and they are beauty and nothing.


The roses have thorns like the memories, the ones I will never understand. I crave what I can’t grasp.


The memories lie stuck of things told to me, about you, cleaned cut out fractions of your human frame.


Yellow roses have always been just black, a colorless frame to your picture just left black for me.


I look at your picture one more time; you hold my hand and pet my hair, like your daughter, my mom.


I hear your music in my head, pet my hair, I watch.

 

I see your face again in the rose I set on your grave.



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