Withered Roses

Photo borrowed from Flickr.com

A friend R whose really into poems made one and gave it especially for me. She's one of my new-found friends I've been for almost two semesters. Just found a common interest in writing poems and prose, and yeah, in singing. We don't usually sing in public but when we're together, with another friend R, we just can't help singing our hearts out expressing each emotion-packed voice in vibratos and melodies.

During a vacant hour while waiting for our next Physics class, the world seemed so far away as we sang every bit of our souls and as the walls of that old hollow fire exit staircase listen to every note given out by our vocal chords.

I would just like to extend my gratitude to R and R who showed me how true passions drive a true passionate artist out. You guys just keep on pushing each other out to the very limit of your artistic inclinations!

The poem has a tinge of emo which I found very appealing. So here it goes:

Mourning before my own grave
Hardly staring at the withered roses
My coffin is but a mere box
Of kept letters, first ticket dates
Stuff toys and photographs
Or our stained memory
That have controlled my whole being
For the past few years.

But I was just my little grave
Of thoughts and withered roses
That seemed to be lonely today
I saw the sun shine at its brightest
And the wind wrapping my body
Against its arms.
The clashing of waves against the shore
I heard it clearer than my own voice
They're all happy and lovely except me

I thought I needed someone to keep me alive
I thought without you I would die
But now that I've buried this coffin
Of myself that was once lost with your memories
I looked at the clouds
And of that someone behind them
And the I just knew
S(he) loved me more than I love you
And it's time now to move on
To rename myself as "I" and not "us".