One morning-

Name the sun of these twenty four hours

Epitome of demise, mine or ours

Name it a midnight, in the ending hours

And no morning rise, no summer flowers

Dead knots under state a tongue tied heart

Piece this puzzle and pull it apart

A look could bloom a thousand roses

And fill a thousand doses

A picture says a thousand words

But this word love, paints a thousand Pictures

I thought of this poem, after I watched the doors close

With words hanging in the balance

This poem cannot close...

Not yet

Charles