White Rose

To live
Is to constantly leave something we thought
Was truly ours.
White rose, fragrant and full of promise.
Now, nothing more than a damp diagram
Soaked in heartache.

The petals blowing over the scorched earth
Do not ask to leave
Only what remains is
And the shadows weep memories
Of a dripping rose
I thought would always be.

Nothing is changing the raw
Bud chiseled round
And round
In the timeless
Rain
Until sharp blades clip the thorny
Hand holding what once was
And now is
Pain.