A Rose...What once brought me pleasure has dissipated like the dew on the petals of a rose… Slowly as each day passes the pain blossoms… Missing you now, I sit and think for all to see… Must I appease you with the anguish of my soul? Will this bring you within my reach? Must my tears flow as the river runs through the sunlit forest? Will this bring you into my world? Must I scream so loud that the mountains tremble? Will this bring you to hear me? No, perhaps nothing will bring you to that parallel plane… The residue of your past performances reminds me that you do not hear, feel or speak unless there is something for you to gain… What once brought me pleasure now makes
me exude
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