Like roses.

roses bloom and wilt
like tears hiding every single guilt
but still it stand in a firm echo
smiling as we watch the past go

blooming bright in the first breeze
to quench any emotional thirst, apease
hold, and shine with every sway
red, a love with no yes or nay

calm like the last autumn sky
watching the last petal wilting dry
in a season of old stone and firewall
when the last rose slowly fall

back to the basic of life
and live another colourful strife
to love, is to care and hold
until bones break and memories turns old


it's been too long since i spill some ink for poetry.
skills getting rustic, huh?