the abandonment [no more roses]

no more roses they said and felt significantly it must be so no more roses to sow or sell or make spells and cast reverently into the skies no more roses they said and felt utterly so that this must be the last of the straws at the bottom of the cask no more roses they asked

not even for a coat to wrap around my chilly bones and cleave fretfully behind the roads not one they asked not even a petal to make a bed not even a thorn to make a train to ride away from the snow no more roses not even a stem to set hopefully in this glass not even one nor should ever we cry or dream or hope

to rend them from the tomes that these flowers once so honestly frozen and callously held between fickle fingers shallow yet true and feel even outwards grasp blindly sincerely and clasp and dream of roses

 in fields and sheets and oceans of red and yellow and oh so many facets of those gentle haloed friends those lost those lamented those longed for oh so yearned so needed so pleaded

they there on the steps out on the bitter street never sweet not any more for no more roses cascade no more roses remain no more roses pour ambitiously out from the fettered dew drenched roads and wish on delicious lips on wetted waiting whispering lips skip out these words of plea that never would these unfortunate fools ever for even one moment have even ever believed that for even ever not even one more moment could there be not nearly even one trace one trickle one sweet scented sumptuous red alluring rose.

"??no more roses??"

they asked

and scoffed

and left

and rose.

The Death [and the glass]

when this world no longer turns but hangs dim in some other sky

when stories are mute and none promise ever to spin out from lapping tongues

these forms once draped in cotton and gold

(and rotten and mold)

now forgotten now old

(now cold, un-told, sold, the saddest most tantalizing ode)

collide.

amidst frozen stars these two again for one last time stretch out arms towards one another remembering fondly those awful crimes and stroking firm wounds matching maligned they dance that fabled dance and grasp from the universe some practiced  design and make a score a thousand times performed once more once more some sweetness burns some kind old phrase hanging delicately out on the edges of time remind these pieces these heroes these fiends that there must in some perfect mind be a perfect version of a perfect prize and then their fingers let slip their grip but not with horror nor with glee nor pride but with honesty for once this time with truth with hope with grace replace that false design with just a smile a simple sign from one edge of the empty divde to the opposite side of endless time two massive spheres of absolute each as grand as the other press together and for once after all this time say good-bye.

.gather round this priceless scene yes drink in this final turn for no reprise for this dancing pair will rend itself from the archive.

~look across the divide~