How I wish that this rose could have eyes,
So that it could see it the way I see it,
Through mine.
Then there is the moon, all alone on the dark stage,
With its crater riddled face, it’s confidently present:
Shining brightly.
But it is that moon that haunts you still,
An ironic light that spreads darkness;
Time after time.
It’s almost as if I can see it smile, with its big mouth,
Happily showing off what it has stolen,
In silence.
Because of this thief’s reign, the rose cannot bloom,
It knows no noon because of the moon, but hopefully
It will, soon.