What Seems To Be
what seems to be
need not necessarily what it must be
sometimes in too much
anticipation
what happens is an erosion of
the mind
it soon forgets
what it is,
what a thing is
in it-self
unfolds before you like the petals of a rose
so slowly
as though time does not exist
and so
in the middle of your sorrow
you fail to understand
its chili essence
beauty in full bloom
lies wasted unnoticed by the eyes
until death wait not
such is the salt of goodbyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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A Dying Rose
A Dying Rose
By: Adam M. Snow
Helplessly I wait upon the hour, drawing closely;
I, myself ponder tremendously.
Do my eyes deceive what once was a rose?
And by that, does it be a rose no longer?
I speak to be heard once more,
and once more to be heard by that rose.
But I cannot see that of the beauty of her face,
yet her eyes glances swiftly beyond my essence.
Could it be? Oh could it be,
that my essence is enough to guide thee?
I am but one in groups of many,
she sees not I but one in twenty.
She is that of a dying rose,
shedding that of blackened petals;
a black rose, I say so myself.
Doomed by what the world gave to thee;
a single tear drop, which falls and taints the ground.
And by that passing hour; she, herself would wilt away.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Rose Petals
Rose petals are so soft to touch,
rose petalsfragrance is so divine to smell,
rose petals are like lovely lips which smile,
rose petals are given to lady love,
rose petals are spread on bed of newly bride,
rose petals are life of butterflies,
rose petals are used for beauty baths,
rpse petals are offered on the lotus feet of god,
rose petals are placed on grave of dear ones,
rose petals are offered in river ganga for departed soul,
rose petals are showered on newly weds,
rose petals are decorated on festive days,
roses are given as a promise for everlasting love.
poem by renu Vig sharma sharma
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The Last Rose Of The Fall
Her pink petals strewn upon the grass beside her mother tree
In full bloom a thing of Nature so beautiful to see
Where the gleaners of Nature's decay grubs, slugs and insects crawl
Last week she looked so beautiful the last rose of the Fall.
So bare and thorny looking without her leaves and flowers
The rose tree looks forlorn in the cool Autumn showers
Next Summer again pink roses she will wear
The rose tree in bloom has a beauty that's rare.
The beauty of Nature is seen Worldwide
In town parks and gardens and in the countryside
And Nature herself she lives on every shore
The one destined to live forever more.
For the gleaners of Nature who live on decay
The beautiful rose petals on the grass lay
But the rose whose life span can be measured in hours
Her fate it is not any different to ours.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Prose to a Rose
Such A flower is the rose
Its colour bursting red
Such a flower if the rose
The flower of passion the poets often said
I could gaze upon its beauty
And not lift thine eyes
And when it closes its petals to go to sleep
A tear of sadness rises in my eyes
Such a flower is the rose
For it reminds me of you my dear
When ever I gaze upon a rose
It makes me wish you were here
Its petals are soft as thy skin
The colour like your lips
Its fragrance is sweet and pure
Like the flavor of your kiss
Such a flower is the rose it beauty
Has been endless through out time
And when ever I see a rose be reassured my love
You are for ever on my mind
poem by John A. Hancock
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A Rose Is, But A Rose
A Rose Is, But A Rose by Kenny Davis
A rose is, but a rose
Its illustrious petals has me drawn to her
With every one that blooms and blossoms I yearn for her
For with every one that drops and withers away I mourn for her
A rose is, but a rose
Holds such beauty like that of the Garden of Eden
Thanking god for the gift of this rose, I find myself pleading
Hoping that the beauty found in this rose is not misleading
A rose is, but a rose
With its true essence hidden under its thorns
Cherishing, treasuring, and loving it beyond its pain and scorn
Hoping that through all the love I show for her, that its spirit is reborn
A rose is, but a rose
Through the storms, finds the strength to continue to bloom
Where most would have been doomed to allow life’s rage to be consumed
Through my admiration of her creation send a sensation to have her faith in love renewed
A rose is, but a rose
Though there are many, none like her
Much like the fiery red of her petals, my love for her continues to burn
Blessing me with privilege caring for her, she allows me to shower my love for her in return
A rose is, but a rose
Gardening every inch of her nature overwhelmingly fills this void inside
I gained an everlasting love for life, when my world with hers collided
Much like a rose without water, without my rose, I would wither and die
© May 2011 k.davis
poem by Kenneth Davis
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Pondering upon the Rose on a Sunday Morning......
The symbol of love
When giving in love a rose speaks for itself
The beauty is picturesque
The scent it gives lasting for ever
The rose never seen without her thorns
Still who can not feel happiness when a rose is seen or given?
Even for a brief minute, a second the rose brings a smile
Or perhaps a small sigh of delight
If one were to think upon a rose…
The thorns… the beauty…
The petals that carry the essence…
That lingers even after it is withered
If one were compare to our Lord…
He held thorns upon his precious head; the head of the rose is above the thorns
His love was known for its beauty and compassion, the rose noted for love
His words and Spirit lingers for eternity much like the scent of the rose
My Lord created the Rose
Perhaps he created it for remembrance of His son
Looking upon the rose I see it all so clearly
The meaning of love
The beauty
An essence that shall always be with me
poem by Patricia Gale
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Rose An Inspiration
Rose, the sign of love
Beauty is picturesque
Speaks for itself
An inspiration
Rose, scent is everlasting
Always fresh upon the eyes
Keeping a pose of pure divine
Beauty evokes
An inspiration
Rose, pedals are smooth
With a bounty of great beauty
Shows affectionate feelings
Has a unique power
An inspiration
Rose, sways slowly in a breeze
Perfuming a scent all its own
So, sweet and light
An inspiration
Rose, in full bloom, it is radiant
As it whispers of passion
Breathes of love
An inspiration
Rose, each thorn has a reminder
Rose, is fragile and delicate
Love can hurt
An inspiration
Rose, a token of great love
An inspiration
poem by Elizabeth Grant Price
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Grief Of My Red Rose
Grief is always hiding behind me
The horrible, terrible thing
It strikes when I am least looking
And lately, it's taking everything
My love is gone, withered and died
A red rose so fair
I have nothing to hide
My red rose just didn't care
When I was least expecting it
Grief of that love came lurking near
What if my rose just never fit?
I now have a morbid fear
What if it never belongs to anyone else?
What if it's not meant to give away?
What if I have to keep it to myself
For the rest of my days?
I will lose it for sure
So I won't let that happen
Grief can't take me by surprise
And i cannot wait until when
My red rose will bloom once more
It's petals will be full, soon
And I will be more cautious than before
Although true love comes once in a blue moon.
poem by Eden St. Andrews
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The Beauty In You
slowly the beauty in you
unfolds like the petals
of a rose, in slow motion
unfolding on screen,
not your flat nose, for
it will always be flat
despite the passing
of the years,
my dear, it is your kind heart,
they have not seen it yet,
it is your wisdom, growing
deep in the soil,
like roots.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Slowly Gone
The rose
Slowly droops
It's petals
Falling to the ground
Slowly turning black
Slowly dying
Every moment
The rose was alive
Fades into
Nothingness
Everything it
Was
Gone
Life is cruel
Death is easier
Even if you
Made it as
Far as you could
Death would
Eventually
Claim you
And you would be
Simply
Gone
poem by Autumn Winds
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Profound Ideas Are Taught In Simple Things
wasted time
on dry sands slipping from your fingers
love on the petals of the
red rose
precious life
on the air that we cannot see
and yet we breathe daily
unseen
and yet so essential
old age
on the sunset dimming and dimming
until everything is dark
night
death
and then eternity
in the moon and stars and the space endless
our mortality
to these naked eyes seeing only what lies there
and here
and not beyond
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Time To Kill
Well, I was born on a dead end street
I'm cold blooded but I always felt the heat.
All my friend are dead and gone
If there's a hell, I'm one step closer to it
Somewhere I crossed the line
Somewhere I'm lost in time
I lost my soul and now I'm losing my mind
Time to kill I've had enough of all your lies
I've only got time to kill
I've seen the fire in my eyes
I've only got time to kill
I spend my days counting bricks on the wall
And every night I hear those sirens call
I sink deeper into a convict's sleep
And dream about the day I'm gonna hit the streets
One time I cursed the man
He laughed and broke my hand
I'm gonna take that fist and make him understand
I'll make him understand
I've had enough of long goodbyes
I've only got time to kill
I feel the fire in my eyes
I've only got time to kill
Y'know I always thought there was time enough
To win the game
But now I know times are rough
The seasons changed, times are strange
Somewhere I crossed the line
Somewhere I'm lost in time
I lost my soul and now I'm losing my mind
Time to kill I've had enough of all your lies
I've only got time to kill
I've seen the fire in my eyes
I've only got time to kill
I've had enough of long goodbyes
I've only got time to kill
I feel the fire in my eyes
I've only got time to kill
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mom
My Mom was like a perfect rose at springtime,
Pure and beautiful, and the petals perfectly formed,
And it's fragrance sweet and pleasing to the senses.
For the rose, as my mom, came into this world as a thing of beauty.
As time passed, the winds came into my mother's life,
For as life brings the rose, it also brings the winds.
The wind blows the petals off the rose and it is no longer new
And struggles through the wind to regain its strength and beauty.
Because the rose by God's design is a thing of splendor,
The petals grow back as the winds die down,
As did my mother, for her spirit was strong,
And she lived her life with a love that had no boundaries.
My Mom fought many winds with grace and strength,
Always with a smile and never to bring sadness to anyone,
For she could not bear to see anyone cry,
She was too full of love and life to let the wind touch her spirit.
Mom was my perfect rose; beautiful, warm, loving, and sweet.
She is safe from the winds now and lives in Heaven.
She will live on in my heart always,
And ease the strong wind that weakens me.
Someday the wind will be only a gentle breeze upon my face,
And I will know that she lives on in me forever.
I will know that my Mom is still with me,
Still beautiful and strong and loving.
She is safe now and so much stronger than the winds
The she so courageously endured.
And in that she taught me to believe, have faith, and to know
That I have the strength to endure the winds of my own sorrow.
I love you Mom, you are forever in my heart - you are forever.
poem by Sally DeSmet Trueblood
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Find a moments peace
To see the cycle,
one observes the rose,
whose roots suck on,
though all the petals fall,
nourishing seeds and death,
and then recall-
with purpose no philosophies
disclose.
Like man, from planted seed
the rose is born,
then thrusts about
for water, sun, and air,
essences which, before the rose,
were there,
but which it claims
with sharp and savage thorn.
It pricks against the world,
unknowing, blind,
even the vital bee
and scavenging ant,
set against all
except the mother plant,
indifferent to love
and to the cruel or kind.
The purpose of the rose
is only, then,
to grow and die,
and out of death to come
prepatterned cycle,
back to life again,
a pointless round,
from bloom to seed to bloom.
And yet, beyond the cycle,
gentle eyes
look at the rose
and find a moment's peace,
a dream of love
and kindliness, surcease
from hate and greed
and from the covering lies.
Savage and saveged,
with thorns no rose has grown,
man also breeds,
simply so he may die
for reasons which to him
are as unknown
as to the rose,
though he may wonder why-
Which gives one hope
within the encircling doubt
of purposes
one does not know about.
poem by Daniel Artemas Harmon
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The Rose
the rose is a beauty to behold
it is loved by most women on this earth
is it because the rose is like a woman?
when it opens up and spreads its petals
it shows the beauty within and the softness to the touch.
yet just like a woman it has its thorns to protect its beauty.
so is the woman who has been betrayed-she will never be the same
she will protect the beauty like a spider protects its web.
so this is what i see.
the beauty of a woman which is locked up inside
will bloom like a rose with nothing to hide.
her beauty will be admired by men of all nations
they'll try to get to her to feel the sensation.
the sensation of knowing she is the one
who could raise the setting sun.
so as men we have to take care
for once we get into their hair
they'll be no way of turning back
until she combs her hair and loosens up the slack.
she will have us like a spider has its web
and suck us dry until we're dead.
but! what a wonderful death it will be
as long as we live in harmony.
poem by Louis Rams
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Rose, Fall
Rose of many petals that fall at gentle touch,
you cannot match up to my love-who with touch does not fall
Rose of the green stem, who withers when is dry
you cannot match up to my love, who with age, never dries
Rose of thorny flaws, who pricks me at the lips
you cannot match up to my love, whos lips contain no thorns
Rose like any other rose, who with them does not stand out,
you cannot match up to my love, whose beauty stands outloud
Rose of limited colors, who can only bloom one tone
you cannot match up to my love, who blooms of every hue
Rose, who only appeals to eyes, to those who see its beauty
you cannot match up to my love, who appeals to every sense
Rose fall down, and bow to my love-she is the one with grace
Rose wither away to my love, whose beauty outlives yours
Rose turn 'way, when in presence to my love-
for she holds something you dont hold
and that is my steep love
poem by Afrodita Alkline
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The ROSE Healing - God's Design
When spring comes to us,
Scent of flowers in the air,
A tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design.
Perfect in His possession,
Always in His hand,
God unfolds the petals,
The secret's unknown to me,
The tiny little rosebud,
A flower of God's design,
Unfolds with perfection,
The rose in His hand.
As my life lies before me,
With it's joy and distress,
He is always near me,
Unfolding all life's petals,
The flower of His design,
Forever in His hand.
poem by Eva L. Shaw
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Honest Goodbyes
Sink with the tide
Rescue me if you like
I'll be leaving it all up to you
Think how we tried
It's o.k. to be lied to
As long as it's only by you
People say to me it's best that we've parted
'Cause you know I'm better alone
Don't explain to me how you're so broken hearted
I'm too busy mending my own
Ending each night with such honest goodbyes
Such honest goodbyes for the last time
Honest goodbyes only work once or twice
They work once or twice
Then the rest must be lies
Late ever night the colours fade from the sky
And the music is gone from the moon
Standing in line for what used to be mine
What use is the rhyme with no tune
People say to me it's best that we've parted
And nothing is carved out in stone
It's such a shame how we're back where we started
It's late now and time that we go
Ending each night with such honest goodbyes
Such honest goodbyes for the last time
Honest goodbyes only work once or twice
They work once or twice
Then the rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
The rest must be lies
song performed by by Bic Runga from Beautiful Collision
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Flowers Bloom
when the flowers bloom
do not wait
till they wilt
their petals falling
on your feet
do not take much of the time
witnessing such death
for at the end
of this cycle
when all the petals have fallen
and what is left to see is just an empty sepal
and a very lonely stalk
you shall be reminded of your own
you shall be next, the season waits
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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