The Petal Hymn

the words 

              that were never said

the alphabets 

                that were never inked

the pages 

              that still glares blank

the seed 

             that was never sown

the plant 

             that never sprouted

the bud 

          that never flowered

yet, 

     the Red Rose prospers 

           sending a flicker of hope 

                    to this beatless pulpy engine;

the folded, brown crispy pages

             scents like a fresh blush 

                     at the touch of his fingertips;

but, 

      the lurking greys shroud the blue

                  whiffs quiver the ruddy petals 

                           rains whip on the glass panes;

      drizzle grazing on the frozen sheets  

               erasing the last trace of memories 

                            thumps surrender to thundering.

PC: earthstory