the dead rose

our love was 
a single rose that we kept guarded, 

placed under a glass dome, 

hidden away from other eyes. 

we only lifted the protection when we were alone; 

a single touch, a single rose. 

no matter what we do now, that rose is now dead, 

it suffered in its sanctuary, 

in its tiny glass prison. 

I try to pick up the fallen petals, 

wishing I could breathe new life into 

our fragile, fragrant, precious rose 

but it only keeps wilting on the palm of my hand 

no matter what I do. 

we can place the petals back onto the heart with glue 

but we can't bring that rose back to life; 

our time has passed 

no matter what we do.

sometimes, that's the way love goes...