A Faded Rose

The rose that once had been so perfect.

Petals pleading to be touched,

fragrant with the most Heavenly bouquet.

This rose, reminiscent of another life,

was found in quiet repose,

pressed between pages of poetry.

No better place for interment

than resting in the loving arms of favored.

sonnets whose lines will recapture her beauty in verse.

The essence of rose and love will ever live on in my heart,

just as the bearer of the rose has all these many years.

This dried, crumpled, lifeless rose is all that remains of our love.

I cannot now resurrect this rose, nor our love,

but for some reason I feel the need to try.

Failures are sometimes second chances.

Gently closing the book that contains my faded rose

and the tangible symbol of our love.

I put upon the shelf all our hopes and dreams

to wait once more for another place,

another time.

To God the Father

To the little, pitiful God I make my prayer,

The God with the long grey beard

And flowing robe fastened with a hempen girdle

Who sits nodding and muttering on the all-too-big throne

of Heaven.

What a long, long time, dear God, since you set the

stars in their places,

Girded the earth with the sea, and invented the day and

night.

And longer the time since you looked through the blue

window of Heaven

To see your children at play in a garden....

Now we are all stronger than you and wiser and more

arrogant,

In swift procession we pass you by.

"Who is that marionette nodding and muttering

On the all-too-big throne of Heaven?

Come down from your place, Grey Beard,

We have had enough of your play-acting!"

It is centuries since I believed in you,

But to-day my need of you has come back.

I want no rose-coloured future,

No books of learning, no protestations and denials--

I am sick of this ugly scramble,

I am tired of being pulled about--

O God, I want to sit on your knees

On the all-too-big throne of Heaven,

And fall asleep with my hands tangled in your grey

beard.