The roses with a face

The roses with a face

the Naked face of the roses

the petals knew the weight of time

soft as sighs, they slipped, they fell

no thunder, no tears, just dust.

The bloom once bold, now bare

the thorns still whisper her name

but beauty left without a sound

and silence wore her face

a breeze recalls her scent

a memory not quite real

it brushes past the brittle stems

too faint for time to heal.

sadly once the garden danced,

in light she never feared

now shadows claim the corners

and all that bloomed has cleared

a single petal clings

not ready yet to part

a final act of holding on

for a slow and breaking heart

the soil drinks the sorrow

of love turned away,

each stem a quiet mourner

for what was lost today.

beneath the weeping moon

the rose no longer speaks

but in the hush of midnight

her faded beauty leaks.