Forgetting

Petals of a plum colored
rose rise softly
on a warm summer's breeze,
but the rose is silent
and knows not why it withers.
The keys of life
are stone cracking blows
that bring mortals to their knees.

I once met a man
who tried to explain
the reasons why;
before he could, he died.
Maybe,
maybe it might have
been a lie,
like one's first love, just a sigh!
Tears are not proof one cried.

They are brief bitter snips of the past,
that were never meant to last.

© Harley

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