the smell of dying roses

the smell of dying roses.

lingering threads of rest

spindling through petals in their

sweet, sweet sadness

sculpted on looms of warm stone.

right inviting hllowed eternity and

serenity on the left,

petals closing on earth like the

warm greeting of snow

but opening to the ever colder hands 

of still.

the smell of dying roses inviting me to place below the pines

enveloping me so

close to you.

too far away to feel the passive intesity

and too near to discern the scent that

keeps me beating to decay along side me,

pulling with strength. debilatating.

the smell of dying roses leaves me under

the earth while mortality reaches from air but pushes me below the rotting roots.

breathless to this paradise i've never known,

that smells so sweetly,