Monday, January 14, 2008
The rose
Some years past on a random day, a rose I bring.
Kept in the bag, the scarlet blossom,
And words inside have yet to sing.
Things of emotion and floating flotsam,
Stirring the calm face of bravado.
I grasp my nervous heart,
and feel my tangled tongue.
Oh woe, oh dear, it's really hard.
Suspense filled seconds before the man is hung.
Oh shit, oh shit, what shall I do?
I have been preparing, bracing for this time.
There's no denying, the passion inside,
and now at the peak of our prime,
shall not remain in silence hide.
Resolute, onwards! Go!
Through the shelves, I saw her stand,
amongst the people sea, book in hand.
Her lithe figure, the most gorgeous apple of my eye, I spy.
"Hi!" I sigh.
The rose in my bag, it stayed.
---Non-fiction, and that was four years ago. The eager young boy buying a flower for the first time in his life, holding it like some sacred item. I was early, and paced around till I was late. Lingering outside the book shop, that all too familiar, favourite haunt, and never quite plucking up enough courage. In the process, consigning a flower to its death, a slow suffocating sentence to exile in the litter bin.
Its a decision I still regret sometimes, especially now, I shudder at the thought, of history repeating once more.
It's a story, maybe it's a little story that would make you smile or chuckle a while, at a silly boy.
Gavin
pondered @ 00:00
