Thursday, December 25, 2008
high, and dry.
if only,
life could be a bed of roses.
scraped away of the complexity and mazes of life.
free from hearbreaks and shedding of tears,
washed away of scarred arms.
dont we all wish that life was a bed of roses,
the enticing sweet scent,
of sensuality, serenity,
comfort and love.
but who is to tend to these bed of roses,
the garderner with blunt shears,
and his tractor with broken wheels?
this double edged sword that we all yearn to wield.
dont we all just wished for life to be a bed of roses?
but soon, it will come to an end,
as our life flashes in front of our eyes,
we feel weary, the lid closes shut.
as we are unaware that,
beneath us where we lay,
holds buried dreams and aspirations.
that my dear,
is our bed of roses.
;
9:29 AM
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