The lost poem

This one has been lost for quite some time. I found it again recently and thought I would share and record it here so it can't be lost again. As far as I can remember it doesn't have a name.



The house was slowly imploding.
I swear the glass would have returned
to sand
if only it knew how.

The garden however was an
adventurous thing.
It was growing and stretching
green fingers
towards
the rest of the world.

The roses bloomed in the chaos.
With no one to watch over them
they blossomed bright yellow.

You stopped by the house.
Stretching your long arms
over the
fence
and breaking one bright bloom.

You held it out to me.
One huge yellow bud with
delicate
thorns and tiny green leaves.

I still have the rose.
Wrapped in white paper printed
with your
name in bright blue ink.

It sits in a wooden box.
Once my mother's jewellery box.
Now my private memory case.

The house is still imploding.
Ever so slowly it heads towards
destruction.
Sinking further and further into itself.

The roses still bloom.
Bright yellow against the
grey
and brown of rot and decay.

I think of you when I see the
house.
When the roses sway in the
summer breeze.

I miss your face.