Flowers And Pages

Flower petals saved Between holy pages Dryed and faded, both are Deep words of life, Love simply stated. Memories and hopes Together combine, ever to Transcend places and time... - Life is not a simple dream, There is so very much Beyond what is felt, heard and seen... - Lifes paradox is of such: So full of beauty At the start, So worn and weary At the finish; Boundless knowledge Cannot free the heart, Endless effort Cannot still the days That continue to diminish. - Perhaps tis truly the other way around, Only with relaxed acceptance Through the real beauty of age And understanding Can love of life Ever fully be found. Humanity, Wrong from the beginning Of sin; Redemption right To the very end... For what truly is the meaning Of the mysterious messages Life to us does send? (Tacit translation Terra-incognita Revenant revelation unto Beautiful buena-vista.) Life, like the beauty of the flower, So gradually fades Like the slowly disappearing wonder In a sunset, Nearly imperceptable end of days. - Will our lives be found Only to end Like the sun, Burning down the Western horizon Blazing so beautiful and bright, until finally captured and killed by the darkness of night... Shall the flowering Garden bloom again? Will that beautiful sun ever return? (some seeds planted only grow after all the weeds have been thoroughly burned) Yet for now the weeds still thrive, And the flowers are barely able to remain alive. So, how shall our lives be found saved, preserved eternally between some sacred pages? (the Words there upon print to the flowers beauty and reason do give quiet hint) Who the answer knows? One and the same: The books Author, The lover and saviour Of the true beauty, that is the Rose.