Widowed discolored roses and bloodless roses

Widowed discolored roses

From the past, I always thought I’d have one,

Waiting somewhere, to find that my roses are colorless

Because the bloom of what I anticipated was not waited for

And so my bloom is like dust.

I can’t do the accommodate you and smile and prep myself

For your good time anymore.  

I can’t smile and dance around, you not seeing the uncertainty in my eyes

the hope for your commodity, woman, I can barely breathe

I’m a widow, I hardly knew yea

I make no hope after evaluating

And I find no justification,

Although I assess the situation

I see no reason that because I’ve been dealt a bad hand

From which there really was no way to make 

For what it took this long to find out that 

Although I’m willing to forgive, how many times now?

The Lord laughs at me for believing that I deserved even a flower.

An idiot I was to think that I deserved a place to sit quietly in peace.

I don’t know what kind of person I was but regardless of my upbringing.

When was that an excuse for me to cry myself to sleep  

My disarray of disgrace finding its way to my room

And finding that even now 

My tears were more important than your supposed affections and desires, 

As much as I would love romance;

The wind coming in 

Some kind of change, mystery of the moon

Who cares what it will be since all that matters

Is what I do, what I do?

What will I do if I was given a second chance

How did I go from being a young man

To almost a savage or a wolf

What would I do with second chances

Pardon my sweetness didn’t realize no one else had any

And its alright because I’m no wolf

Smirk comes over those who would throw me to the gallows.  If only they would have thought of doing actual justice,  and they smirk as with reference to calling me a pig so they can do with me what they will.

I have nothing more to say since all I’ve said is a joke to take to the alter of cynical expediency of

All that God was to me, to all

 I judge my friends, and I judge men for making

Their wrath their strength and making the sound of beauty as if angels

Laughing hysterically at the mockery they’ve made of what we are.

Pulling people into the pit of vanity.  Honor being handed like a filthy dollar bill

To throw in the faces of all who sought glory,  not knowing we seeked to find

He who we would call God, our eyes light up as though once again children playing in the sand of oceans and lakes,  and yet no one allows me to remember what its like to be amongst the life without disgrace

Shoving sullying false inferences till legitimacy's defaced

Hoping I would fall, just like its says they loved to curse.

And so what life I had is nothing more than your pleasure to debase.  Did I come seeking trouble?

if sunglasses, Christmas hats, deception and chad memes of despicable brutal men were not the business of the day

Exhalting the heathen over all we would call innocence.   where no one had asked, no one declared, no one had made it their business to defend those who would be humiliated for making the mistake

 of watching a film.  A video, accessible for anyone

Without the proper discretion of letting know what it is.

Business has become fornication and fornication is a business,  to which why we see the end of days.

All of us grown up seeing the end result that those that would have been our wives

Being nothing more than w****s on camera,  discarded like a filthy rag,

Discarded, man having nothing more than wiping their lips and laughing

at how they enjoy the very sentiments for which they persecute, mock, and condemn

Us not knowing we are mocked for what had yearned to one day know which they

Enjoy excess and hoard and merit is given to the greatest hypocrites to keep 

The order of man in disarray.

Those who all they had was the hopes of someday maybe being possibly of some chance of holding her hand.  Or getting to know a woman if there was any who were

Not on their way putting on lipstick for a hot date.  How many run after the same night

After night to debase their honor and leave to us to second chance, leave us as last option

Leave us as their commodity for hope to be loved.  And smile as they believe they got away with both devouring their honor, and lying celebrating their wedding day.

Bloodless roses

I rather live a life of piety then be a brute with strength

I rather hold my words in truth

Than bare a sword at length

I rather sing a song for you and all who think there’s

No hope or rest.

Than hold my hand with anger as if a fist could show whats best.

I’d give you my love if only you knew what that meant

I’d speak of love if only there was something non exhausted about what misconstrued convenience has become,

The commodity of death.

Love, Love

What is?