(no subject)
When I was the bud of the rose,
There was so much ahead of me,
Petals of eternal happiness,
Smiled,
Their chins on the tip of each cloud,
But the dust of the Earth,
Took its weary toil on me,
And every petal I have known,
Has shed its shriveled soul on me,
No petals remain on the bud of the rose,
No darkness can claim,
The stem or the thorns,
The dirt on the ground,
Is the last breathing thing.
When I was still smiling,
With the rays of the sun,
When life could still promise,
That death was all gone,
When I could remember,
The one to be one,
My head was a wonder,
With the things I had done.
When I was seventeen,
With the wind in my ears,
I could hear every whisper,
Of all of my years,
And there were too many things,
I had wanted to say,
That were trapped somewhere deep,
Wilting away.
When I was much older,
With the wisest man gone,
A chip on my shoulder,
And I on the run,
I would tell them to hang,
And feel so much bolder,
But my heart felt cornered,
Like a shot, dying soldier.
But the years they keep on,
Like the waves at the bay,
They will never look better,
Than this day in May,
Where my heart rises up,
From the ashes of love,
And tells all around,
Of the wars it has lost.
And these wars they keep fighting,
Against an evil unknown,
All the dust on the rose,
Makes a new bed of grass,
And the things that I thought,
Were gone, wouldn't last,
Sing their songs to new ears,
Make their marks on new hearts.
There was so much ahead of me,
Petals of eternal happiness,
Smiled,
Their chins on the tip of each cloud,
But the dust of the Earth,
Took its weary toil on me,
And every petal I have known,
Has shed its shriveled soul on me,
No petals remain on the bud of the rose,
No darkness can claim,
The stem or the thorns,
The dirt on the ground,
Is the last breathing thing.
When I was still smiling,
With the rays of the sun,
When life could still promise,
That death was all gone,
When I could remember,
The one to be one,
My head was a wonder,
With the things I had done.
When I was seventeen,
With the wind in my ears,
I could hear every whisper,
Of all of my years,
And there were too many things,
I had wanted to say,
That were trapped somewhere deep,
Wilting away.
When I was much older,
With the wisest man gone,
A chip on my shoulder,
And I on the run,
I would tell them to hang,
And feel so much bolder,
But my heart felt cornered,
Like a shot, dying soldier.
But the years they keep on,
Like the waves at the bay,
They will never look better,
Than this day in May,
Where my heart rises up,
From the ashes of love,
And tells all around,
Of the wars it has lost.
And these wars they keep fighting,
Against an evil unknown,
All the dust on the rose,
Makes a new bed of grass,
And the things that I thought,
Were gone, wouldn't last,
Sing their songs to new ears,
Make their marks on new hearts.