Good Grief
Our desert rose is dead,
Left in the mere mercy of the sun.
His scorching hands has suck her soul out,
Housing ourselves in our sin.
Chained to the ground,
Like villain we look at each other in anger.
We slipped and we fell,
Not once or twice nor thrice,
But more.
More we craved for sin,
Our skin became pale unnoticed.
Numbness spread like leprosy to our conscience,
We are doomed to stand before men.
Our rose is left alone in the desert,
Lying dead.
Forgotten,her carcass half buried in the sand.
Her beautiful face is gone,
The sand storm is coming to take her away,
To the abyss of nevermore.
Our once desert rose will be gone sooner.
Our memories will fade away,
Our lips will mumble her name,
Our desert rose is dead.
All is left is grief of her death.
Still there is one who shades His grace,
Though not much water but little rain
Always with her shall remain.
And she will be revived again.
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