"Roses Are Black"

[Note: Almost twenty years ago I wrote a poem I called "Roses Are Black." Every so often, I remember those times and remember the poem. It doesn't mean anything, really, but it gives the feeling of those times.]




Roses Are Black

I.

Roses are black
as the enigma fades

a shrill caterwaul
empty shadow of echoes
and the cot does not answer

The air drops down
in its own weight

Roses are black
blood drying
remnants of rain

II.

Roses are black
tears
scarlet

The howling madness
has receded to gloom

Rent clothes

Tattered self
remain

Roses are black
Passage fair is silence

III.

Roses are black
candles are suns

a smile
a squeeze

These are everything

Nature sings
a heart's song

Roses are black
glowing nights
are solemn pacts

IV.

Roses are black
footsteps have a name

Somebody
someone

Skyful of prayers
a pond of grief
for somebody

Roses are black
a note is a melody
for more than somebody

V.

Roses are black
gazes are eyes

Waves break
clouds fly
and firetrees bloom in May

Sleeps are cold
dreamless

Roses are black
There is nothing there
and no one here

--andoy/July 3, 1985