someone sent me roses

all through my life

Daddy  once cut them in the blooming garden

and presented to me an array in a sweet

cobalt blue ruffled vase

no double dozen ever meant as much

or was ever so red

 

Life is usually maybe always an inside job consider that we construct our reality and name it ubiquitous a bit deranged but that’s what we do though it seems deadly the only way to life is the inward path take responsibility for your fears and reactionary patterns set by scars and scorns felt long ago understand that the persons and circumstances before us are brand new except for the lovely way…

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