imploring the sunset bring a brighter day
in an open park,
but it still shifted clouds in the early day
bringing the dark too soon,
And I contend it's unfair for
a brand new autumn rose
to feel the crushing heel of fall under a pen
in a journal;
Fresh soft pedals in the first shock of sun
kissed by the dew in a blue early winter
and shackled by the fragile youth better unlearned
he's a ghost for the winter months and fades in to complain
should've skipped December,
she's nothing but rain frozen or not,
go on take her from me godless cold
should've bought a bouquet
or kept your mouth shut.
Remember when you used to say,
'Convince myself of anything,'
or
'Never stop lying to yourself,' but still
Love
is a burning thing,
it melts the snow, it fuels the spring
and burns all summer
spikes the clouds with smoke
and rains a dark grey wet to feed an Autumn Rose.
(when the going gets tough,
the sentimental get self-analytical
existential
so they have to suspend their disbelief in iron,
and tow the line for the company store)
say, 'I love you like a trampled flowers bruised flame.'
