It collects itself and spells our names out on your rug

Or comes back up to glide down over me

'til I am covered in protective ash

and blinded by the tears that try to wash it from my face.

Sometimes I like to lie in it and roll around

'til I forget what cleanliness is like.

It's easier when I don't remember.

At other times I sit on the bed

And watch you draw pictures in it

Or play the guitar with dusty fingers.

The music is still beautiful.

When we fight, the dust rises and surrounds us

Like a cloud of beige security,

Not quite ready to rain,

But always a threat to the dryness of our conversations

Which vary only in words, but not intentions or lack thereof.

I see the broom propped in your guitar stand,

It hasn’t moved since I moved in.

I think we’re scared to clean up. It leaves too many spaces empty.

~Deborah Rossel~

In the midst of fate, can you relate?

To the feelings inside that you try to hide

Vicariously you plea for your life

Someone told me you’re the pinnacle of light

Screaming wild, you are the moonchild

Tribal phrase fading away

Failing to ask about your previous past

Lying in the wake of spirit at stake

Voices are calling you from heavenly gates

Wide open are inquisitive eyes

No more souls are left to hide

Appearing like are recluse

Your subconscience excuse

Facing the shadows of death

Feebly trying to catch your breath

Stating into the face of doom while the stargrass bloom

Shuddering to think of extinction

Leaving a gruesome depiction

Now you stand alone

Unkempt, wilted bone

Bombastically talk about fantasies and fabled fallacies

Thinking you’re on the brink of immortality or totality

But failing to point out the obvious

You’re merely a mortal just like us

Living in your ego cloud

Head trips have made you proud

Now look at yourself

Hope stored on a shelf

Self-esteem lost in a shield of poppy fields

Minds ascending afar from the Vega star

Trying to flee from a garden of deceit

Compromising dastardly feats

Seeming to be the one that's cumbersome

Shunned by your guilt so you wilt

Putting on a façade to confuse God

And you thought you'd found delight under the pale moonlight

Now you dwell with likes of political parasites

Crumbling like an ancient Roman

Now you've met your fatal omen.

I pass you a pewer cup

Filled with rose petals, lavender, and oils

You pass me your empty coffee cup

For a refill

Your silence stretches on

While the razor of time

Slices off another day

Dead flowers in a jam jar

Fading , yellow leaves

And pollen dust in the table top

Undisturbed

An acorn taken from the ground

Will not germinate

I cannot grow an oak tree

in your silence

~Geertjie Van Der Zanden~

Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose.

And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.

The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door.

The card said, "Be my Valentine", like all the years before.

Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say,

"I love you even more this year, than last year on this day.

My love for you will always grow, with every passing year."

She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.

She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day.

Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away.

He always liked to do things early, way before the time.

Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.

She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase.

Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face.

She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair.

While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.

A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate.

With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate.

Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before,

The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door.

She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock.

Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop.

The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain,

Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain?

"I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago,"

The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know.

The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance.

Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance.

There is a standing order, that I have on file down here,

And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year.

There also is another thing, that I think you should know,

He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago.

Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here,

That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."

She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard.

Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card.

Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note.

Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...

"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone,

I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome.

I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real.

For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel.

The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.

I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife.

You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.

I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve.

I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.

That is why the roses will be sent to you for years.

When you get these roses, think of all the happiness,

That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.

I have always loved you and I know I always will.

But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still.

Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days.

I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.

The roses will come every year, and they will only stop,

When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock.

He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.

But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt,

To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him,

And place the roses where we are, together once again.

Sometimes in life, you find a special friend;

Someone who changes your life just by being part of it.

Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop;

Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the

world.

Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door

just

waiting for you to open it.

This is Forever Friendship.

Last Revised: February 26, 2000