The children will never be
Ours.
We will never fight our battles
Together,
Side by side as Partners -
And equals.
The tree will always bear fruit -
But it will eternally be
Bitter.
Time will not heal the wounds.
No medicine will cure the
Sickness
Raging within my bones,
Inside my very
Core.
Slowly it will decimate all that I
Am
And all that I may ever
Become.
Green will always be
The Color
Which makes me most
Somber.
The footsteps in the hallway
(“Hi, honey! I’m home!”)
Will never be
Yours.
Still I question everything
Spoken and unspoken
From your lips so skilled
At deception.
(Or honesty?)
Cursed forever to be the
Naked Rose
Unpicked,
Slowly
wilting
in
the
sun.