Frozen Rose (Aug 06, 2009)
Grown hair turns gray before it falls away.
Fruit is rotten that was ripe yesterday.
Mountains, centuries standing against dawn,
With a massive eruption could be gone.
The light in the Heavens dwindle their load.
And dwarf to white before they will explode.
The things most permenant we say "do not live."
Though eternal that is the label we give.
Death will only cease to stalk us in the afterlife.
Until then we turn to those we love to cope through strife.
Frozen Rose (Aug 06, 2009)
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