To the letters I never wrote, to you

The glances of their face
the numerical sense within their mind
it's a beautiful opportunity to gather
as moments are not of our own
as the day growls back and we moan too
the meaning of their glances at least prepares a meaning too defined
a letter of hope they say that changes the balance of what we know
in time the numbers didn't make sense
they didn't even know
who has supper?
who washed the clothes...
they are here because they are rescued
like roses are red for reasons that we don't know
the seasons remind of us of how they know because they were here
what a beautiful answer
the more I see it, it's because of you
when you sit still who washes your clothes/
when you revisit, is there supper there?
when you break bread is it really just our bones?
roses are red... but it takes you to know that
as roses fall, one to three
as they fall down
and were here because they are
roses arent just like the sun
as the sun is called a beat, a way home sometimes...
as the day grows stronger
whos growling now?
the supper sits still, does it wait for your clothes?
the them that they are, they have a notice, and a hope
to be here long and wait for the meaning of their glance
are roses the fog colored glasses,
the only way home?
what is time? a music?
the moment between your life and mine, a music?
love takes time before a music can see the music done
love can withstand because of seasons, because of them, the hope and
the way that life carries on is a sense
a music? the only chance to believe in seasons, and a way to see the way home sometimes...
love is laughter at least,
love prepares the way home, for its own
so loving, by them
loving, to lead oppourtunity
a music
no
so there was time like how roses become red
and death invites all kinds
from the more in music to the less in them
whats the worst that it knows
when there was just roses to fall
and beauty to bestow
love at least?
when youre here and there and you see them go
there was an opportunity
and the life was bare
bare like bones
do the roses fall then for me?
does time escape becaues were moving fast
how much time has fast taken
a music?
to call you know would make me then
to say its done would be prepared
so as the supper lies, the beauty is supposed, and
memories take care of me
do you know that the roses just fall?
past me
beneath me
the roses that are so close
they make new days for the ways that they go
roses are red...
a music?
it's like the rest of me
just to be here and there as they're watching
just to be clear as the days do growl, and clothes go unwashed
a music?
it's the little things that count
the parts that we don't know
the spaces we make
the letters we never throw...
come back