Ausgang

Lower the flag, your voice, your head,
This morning with dawn a rose became dead.
Yesterday she posed as a lover proposed
Happiness then but today the rose goes.

With what grace, what humility
The petal in my heart
She coloured us lives
Yet in her hour of need
She smiled a tear
With what courage to wait for when it’s near.

Act Three of Shakespeare,
The once-king is Dead. Done. Deposed.
Yet no one feels the tragedy
A rose died today yet not one of us knows how.

Oh how they felt, the other roses
When no one wept for their dear
Those once radiant fields of roses
While each morning they cried tears of dew
Today they sit petrified in fear
That we won’t notice when they too become shadows of no mere.

While young we had lives
Lived smouldering hot
Love and passion our religion
And we never left our church, our heart.

Though we wouldn’t admit
We gratefully accepted a shadow of respite
Yet now we stay in that shadow
Long we stay under it
As its cool became cold, and us with it
A mirage, a mere illusion became our haven
And we were sure that illusion
If we merely wished it, could become true.

Before we knew it the sun had risen and set
The heat gone, as with any chances of us being alive
The blooming petals have recoiled
The well is dry
Empty of tears to cry
Our hearts so thick and coarse
They could coat leather coats
Two eyes yet not one that can see
A mouth but nothing for it to say,


Until it was too late.
We were alive
A million heart beats but not a single heart for them
We had long lost the road, chosen the exit
The Ausgang
The path that forbids us return,
We are naked faced with our weakness,
That we want to go back but are incapable of our own wants.

Then today, in my illusion I woke up to the disillusion
That this morning a rose was dead.