Just like you splatter paint on your paper
I splatter these words upon this page
tuck them away and save them for later.
I told them to stop, and "Please, smell these roses?"
"It's winter" they told me
and stuck up their noses.
A simple question, yet they pose levity.
I wish they'd fall off the earth,
no thanks to gravity.
In the end
they'll be victims of resignation.
I'll shrug my shoulders and sniff my roses
all out of direct retaliation.
Living in a plain and colorless world
they plead to be relieved of the merciless pit.
No ropes by my side, holding one end of my rose, I call down, "grab hold".
Across the street I hear them say
"Sir, would you stop and smell my roses?"
The man said no, turned, and walked vainly away.
Shaking their head
they explained to each other
"Just as we learned, one day he'll see he should have stopped and smelled them instead".
