The Romantic

Here, in the moonlight, he stands.The man whose heart is now broken.

His one and only love, gone.

The red rose dangles limp in his hand. This had not turned out the way they had planned.

She had to go. Beside the fact that he loved her so.


Love was like the roots of the trees in the circular grove.

Deep. Strong. Holding everything together.


She returned this affection to him as well, More then her red lips like the rose could tell.

It was in that last glance back she gave, when the look of sorrow and the tear in her green eyes whispered,

Good-bye.

Then she was gone.
Like a breath expelled in the cold night air - here for an instant, then gone...without a care.


He could not forget the image of her face.
After this beautiful creature, he longed to chase.

But he would not.

It had to be this way.

This rose will always be remembered. The flower, a story in itself.
The tale of two united by the soul
whose fire will burn on
from the intensity of the coal.


The flame ignited by that look in the eye. These are the ones who will always have each other, Until and also beyond the day they die.