He walked slowly,
Towards the sound,
Of sacred water flowing,
On the sacred ground.
Sacred it was,
The load that he bore,
As he got nearer,
Its weight grew more.
He reached the river bank,
And took out the rose,
Wilted, blackened,
Like the love that he chose.
He kissed it goodbye,
And gave it to the river,
Closed his eyes,
And felt a slight shiver.
When he opened his eyes,
It wasn't gone,
Unwilling to go,
Floating, holding on.
Like the love that lingers,
Against all odds,
Refusing to die,
Praying to the gods.
He picked up the rose,
And threw it again,
Hoping that it catches the current,
And is not seen again.
But a strong wind blew,
And carried the flower away,
Away from the water,
To his dismay.
He tried hard,
To find where it fell,
But it was still twilight,
And he couldn't tell.
He turned back,
With a heavy heart,
Knowing that his love,
Is now lost in the dirt.
It wasn't to be,
A peaceful goodbye,
In the sacred waters,
Where sacred things lie.
He still dreams,
Of the black rose lying,
Somewhere in the mud,
Slowly dying.
Searching for a hand,
To end its wait,
And send it into the water,
Before it's too late..