Like a Rose...

Like a Rose...

"He loved her
he loved her not".
The game he used to make fun of

and she kept playing.

-
In the paradox of those eyes
love's logic redefined itself...
-

He's gathering small delights
from remains of city,
filling his pocket with dreams
once were valid.

In the streets of madness,
the vagrant hearts,
the endless cacophony,
he disbelieved Neruda's hallucinations
dedicated himself,

to the mutinous spirits
the smell of gunpowder
to vows embracing death.

-
Deformed, the concept of love
in terms of war.
-

And like a languorous rose
amid the garden of his thoughts
waiting, she's still waiting

to be picked...

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