Roses in December
Roses in December, a rare sight
An occurrence once in a blue moon
For if a rose can bloom at the end of the year
At the end of ones life one as well might
The rose - an overrated flower
As is the idea of achievement
For achievement comes in many forms
Each carrying their own significance
As I write, I think, why roses?
A symbol, a stereotype, a status
An overglorified gift flower for the achiever
directing its thorns at whoever opposes
Instead of roses, why not lilies?
Those delicate, pure petals
displaying humility even after years of devotion
Devotion to life and striving through its melancholies
It's 1am thoughs, I suppose
that make me question roses
It's not their fault they're linked to greatness
just like the ideas of achievements imposed
Roses in December, a rare sight
Not everyone can witness
And hence society's pressured into watering plants
And hence being remembered is overglorified
So now that we've discussed
what makes a rose so special
can we ponder why winter, end of year,
is compared to the time before biting the dust?
Depressing image, winter days
Everything's stagnant, frozen stiff
Symbolizing death is too harsh as it has beauty
And tho things faded, the main structure stays
But it doesn't have to be so
Not the best, but not waste
If not the roses, the snow itself
The snow holds sculptures, footprints, plants for spring
Let me retreat into the comfort of fog without haste
And each snowflake is unique too
Different patterns, paths taken
Falling to earth, I know the ground is nourished
and my existence came out of the blue, into the blue.












