The Cycle of Rose
The Cycle of Rose, the odyssey of man’s soul, the wind witnessed thousands strom and
messages;
The past roses are separated from the stalk (wilted, plucked by eagerly childish vain, its spathe
scattered by the hand of grief, as decoration of the ceremonial event, then back to
earth like everything alive, and turned into another) and rebirth as a new-fangled single
rose.
Present rose: The thorns are sharp, brave, and fierce; The colour attach to my blood; the smell is romantic recall the artistic shape of my chest; And the physical beauty is beautification of
my spiritual part;
Fresh brood of the unroses rose tree, precious as son, mother, father, and family;
And the breeding process is biological names, chemical names, unnamed.
O butterfly now Im under the clearest blue sky;
I’ll be water, sun, little breeze puff her to dance real slow;
Grow O rose on the earth I used to stand cause now I fly and fall and never stroke the bottom;
just prior to ground it blast and full again then soar over; remain high with smell of rose.
Grow O rose inside the infinity surrounding me, cultivate O rose inside the infinite war in me.
