The End of it All

I often dream of a weeping girl

this girl is you, I hold her gently,

Soft her touch, she holds me back

and both of us, forever happy.

I also dream of a burning rose,

its smoke flies high into the night,

And though the rose is flaming gently

it still remains an ugly sight.

I think of what this metaphor means

if the girl is you, what is the rose?

The rose is my soul, my spirit, my darling,

what became of me, God only knows.

I write this poem now while sobbing,

holding on to what's left of hope.

The weeping girl, she now stays crying,

and I, myself, just cannot cope.

To end my torment, one must answer

am I worth it? Should I care?

Cos if you don't, then why should I,

if our two lives, I cannot share.

The burning rose, and weeping girl,

like the end of it all, have nothing to bare.