roses

Then the wind came in with Bart and blew the vase of roses from the table. I stood and stared down at the crystal pieces and the petals scattered about. Why was the wind always trying to tell me something? Something I didn't want to hear!

Life is uncertain.Today you get a rose.Tomorrow you feel the thorns.But the end result is red, always!!

The rose has toldIn one simplicityThat never lifeRelinquishes a bloomBut to bestowAn ancient confidence.

And the shower of roses spun around me, inviting me to take part in their ever-present waltz.

It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.

I relinquished myself to existence pure and simple, thinking absolutely nothing__s if my mind were merely an echo chamber for the music, as if it contained only ether or at most a vaguely pleasant odor as of roses preserved between the pages of a book, their significance long forgotten. The tongue of the road gobbled me up and I allowed myself to sink like a tasty mouthful all the way to the bottom of a marvelous, rejuvenating vacuity. Later, it would occur to me it__ the emptiness we mistakenly call Innocence.

I feel as if I had opened a book and found roses of yesterday sweet and fragrant, between its leaves.

Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses-

This rose of pearl-coated infinity transformsthe diseased slums of a broken heartinto a palace made of psalms and gold.

The point is to turn your grief into love. The roses are helping you find grace.

If you can love all who've betrayed you... you can taste sweetness in everything.

I was mortified that I could spend a lifetime with someone and not know them at all__hat I could love someone so blindly and never question who they really were. Was it stupidity? Or is that merely what love actually is__o see the good, to love the good and wonderful and ignore the rest? I think that is what I used to believe_I don__ believe that anymore.Love is seeing every damn rotten thing about someone and loving them anyway. It__ not being too afraid to look deep inside another person and still being able to see all the good messed up in with the bad. Love is accepting the shit as well as the roses. I think I failed to ever smell the bullshit. I only smelled the roses and never realized that it is the shit that makes the roses bloom.

You__e thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it sliplet it gosay __ give up_ one last time and give him a sad smile.You__e thinkingit shouldn__ be this hard,shouldn__ be this dark,thinkinglove could flow easily with no holding backand you__e seen others find their match and build something greattogether,of each other,like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great thingsone by one, always together, and it seems grand.But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn__ live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone__o more__akes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle.You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming gardenbut that__ not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winterwalking home alone and angrybut falling asleep thinking you love him.This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don__ go I need youlike you need meand maybe it__ not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castleand you can run from it your whole life but this is herein front of you.Maybe nurture it?Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain__ perfect and it ain__ honey sweet with roses on the bed.It__ real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don__ throw it away searching for someone else__ love. Don__ be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone__ someone for someone.Be that someone for him.That__ your fairy tale. This is your castle.Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It__ yours if you make it so.Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.

With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.

. . .in your light, had I learned to love, here in your beauty, could I speakknowing of this space close withinas the breath held inside a garden rose, there_ there is no time.

Lords of melody and song,Lords of roses burning bright,Blue will right the ancient wrong,Though the way is dark and long,Blue will shine with loving light.

For millions of years flowers have been producing thorns. For millions of years sheep have been eating them all the same. And it's not serious, trying to understand why flowers go to such trouble to produce thorns that are good for nothing? It's not important, the war between the sheep and the flowers? It's no more serious and more important than the numbers that fat red gentleman is adding up? Suppose I happen to know a unique flower, one that exists nowhere in the world except on my planet, one that a little sheep can wipe out in a single bite one morning, just like that, without even realizing what he'd doing - that isn't important? If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that's enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself 'My flower's up there somewhere...' But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it's as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn't important?

I believe in roses. And I believe in putting roses into a vase and sitting the vase on the table. I believe in getting lost and being found, I believe in going barefoot, and in laughter! My religion is to laugh at myself, whenever I can! I believe in the sunlight and in grey skies with big, beautiful clouds!