Sunday, July 24, 2011

Wither

Is it no more than the years
which have seduced me with this beautiful regret
that I am the rose dying on its vine
Memories fall like petals to the ground—lifeless and spent
like the very hope of which
I was born

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011

1 comment:

Nicole Nicolela said...

I'd repeat all your words.. To tell you I'm in love with them; they make me feel the sweetness of your pain..