elegance

to die, to be dead, to live on with those words unsaid, to pass on-
there is nothing more painful than holding on
to roses that climb your soul with their prickly thorns
that teethe you to believe love will sting,
but bees flit on while the birds sing of a love that you will never know

In beauty you find your loss
is only in the thought of gain,

you leave the sun in a passing cloud,
your wedding veil: a burial shroud.

and so it goes on..

Another song will lift us when this one is gone,
for flight is a prolonging of what will come,


fall slow.