Delicate is her soul and soft is her heart

Her wilt is stronger than most go

Scratches and tears will repair

But plucking, don’t you dare

For loving her is a sacred share

Only the brave crumble in despair

*     *     *

I once planted a garden filled with flowers from my youth

Soil turned in spring and held the fearful seedlings

I once grew a garden in my youth

Slowly spring turned to summer with blooms

I once was a definition of youth

Impatience for life bloomed in dullness

For no one ever told me to relax

Before too long, life will leave you wilting

*     *     *

Somewhere a constant tick

Reminds someone of the seconds passing

I sit in silence while contemplating

Am I truly happy? Or do I regret mistakes?

One person shakes their foot

Another crosses their legs

I sit still

Staring straight ahead

Blinking out of tune

With the constant tick

*     *     *

When I was younger, I believed myself to be an observer

I believed I did not deserve happiness and would never be happy

My purpose was to watch love and happiness bloom between others

When a friend came for advice, I would give my best hope

I felt sad watching others enjoy their life

But I was never meant to be happy, only an observer

*     *     *

A feather lighter than air rests upon my shoulders

Carrying the weight of the world and grace

A fool I look trying to amount with breeze

When I trip over my own two feet

*     *     *

Your eyes are worn down and weary

You never claim to be happy

You feel shriveled up inside

As though your youth passed you by

I can see the regret in your eyes

Feel the pain from your spine

There is always another

Who demands your energy more

If you ever care to ask for truth

You would be affronted with false candor

I could never speak misspoken words to cause hurt,

But I think you forgot the most important part of living

Is to take care of yourself

*     *     *

In your fingers burns a cigarette 

Slowly the ashes flick away

Life relates with death in the moment

People blow away as leaves dying in autumn do

The same with ashes blowing into dust

The stick comes to end, but you begin again

For you do not care either way

*     *     *

I once claimed to have zero secrets,

But I lied.

Truth is, I do have quite a few secrets,

But they should not remain private.

Should they?

I do not intentionally keep secrets,

I am not a person to lie,

But I have my reasons.

Most of which are secret too.

*     *     *

Death does not frighten me

Fear itself is more fearsome than the actual event

Leaving everyone and every place I love behind

Is what scares me the most

Quiet rainy days with hot tea and a good book

Playing with the dogs in spring

Walking through the botanical garden

Visiting the same museum every summer      

And staying up late just for thunderstorms

I can only experience these events so many times

In a single life time, which is already too short

I am saddened and scared by the fact that one day

I will never experience them again

*     *     *

Despite being another person

In another world

With another face

Living in a different home

Located a mile or a thousand miles away

I will still be the same

But with different memories

And a different life

I will still be the same, but maybe a little kinder

And a little stronger

And possibly a little braver

*     *     *

We all forget everyone else is human too

Emotions felt throughout our years

Are felt by others too

Though they may be distant by time or location

Everyone is just the same



*     *     *

The depths of winter wound their way inside, blocking out all the light

As a soul and human being, I had been frozen

My body never warmed despite the heater on high

My soul never shined through the darkness clouding the sky

*     *     *

I have an energy of pure innocence

The same as a child’s

Which must be why children cling to me

My mind never prepares for the ulterior motives

Or passive aggressive remarks of others

I am perceived as a child for the simple fact

That I have an innocent mind and soul

But I am not as innocent as a child

I have experienced the darkness of life

And became bitter and angry

Instead of letting my past define how I must behave

I choose to be happy, spread love, and speak only the truth to others

I guess my soul is young, for others overlook the fact that I am an adult

I no longer hide away my happiness behind a mask

Wherever I am, I will act with happiness and let my excitement show

I would rather allow my hurting damaged soul to appear as a child while I am experiencing joy

Instead of hiding underneath bitterness

*     *     *

People may care for me deeply or slightly

But I am always placed on the back burner

There is someone else more important than me

I do not ask to be someone’s front burner

Who am I besides a confused adult?

I just think, it must be very lovely

If you are someone’s first thought and concern of the day

*     *     *

Love between parents and their child is stronger than any bond you can have with someone.

Many are lucky to experience the love

A few more are granted the bond until their middle age

However, some never experience the love or have a fall out with one or both

A few more have broken the bond and run off on their own

A little less have lost the bond with one or possibly both

And only a rare few are allowed the luxury and privilege of securing the bond until elderly age

*     *     *

She hides in dark corners waiting for peace to come

Since birth she has been cursed with despair

Most would have given up by now, but she day dreams her life away

Waiting for the perfect person to whisk her away into a life full of happiness she could never imagine

Delusional! Out of her mind… Gone off the deep, some would say

Everyone is to blame for her current predicament

She will never see otherwise

Since her first argument, every person has found a way to contribute towards her never-ending sadness

*     *     *

Once again, I am filled with the hopeless fear of fear

I fear repeating the constant hospital visits and blind hope

A smile of relief and gratitude when a person is safe for another day

But the day will be over soon, and they may not survive the dawn of a new day

*     *     *

I feel an overwhelming nonchalant sadness for past times

When I knew and understood nothing

Mornings passed by with ease

As I always ran around until nightfall

I slept the nights easily away knowing I was complete

*     *     *

The constant cycle is never ending, but it is one my life is stuck in

I dream of respite and hope for a new life

One far away from the constant cycle I so desperately hate

I have dreamed of love and eternity within full happiness

I can see myself, in another world, happier than I have ever been

But dreams are nothing more and nothing less than figments of imagination

And the universe does not grant imagination into reality

*     *     *

This fear is not one I wish to live by

With silent screams and echoing dreams  


Neither my heart or soul has prepared

Underneath this pressure crumbling there’


Alone with thoughts deeply rooted

I see clearly, but wish to cloud my mind

Away from the gathering storm


The forest is not one I wish to remain by

Withered branches and leaves form a canopy

Which closes me underneath

A breath of darkness and a kiss of fleet

*     *     *

Artist of the past created landscapes and portraits

Which allow us to glimpse the life hundreds of years ago

Colors and textures bring life to the once dead sketches

A woman of twenty dancing with flowers in her hair

An old man of sixty sitting in his rocking chair

Morning light and evening dawn casting shadows among the untouched fields

The past has gone and vanished

Leaving nothing behind except a painting

Which will, one day, be gone too

How sad to lose history as time goes on

I wish I could have met the people in the portraits

I wonder how they would have spoken of their life and struggles

Once, a woman with a beautiful smile, twirled in circles laughing

Now, she is nothing more than dust that has mixed with the soil of earth

I wonder if her ashes, nurtured a great oak tree or a field of flowers

Are they still there…. Or has the expansion of our time erase every trace of her existence?


By Aubrey Rose


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