You kept me here
like a rare bloom
mounted in a frame
in an empty room
of endless of silence
glass upon glass
heartache behind labels
too worn to read
the room echoes
with the soft ticking
of time’s disinterest
nothing wilts, but nothing heals
I see myself in the rose
that will never finish blooming
trapped mid-sigh
its’ moment stolen
is this love?
the need to keep
something so perfect
that it can no longer
even breathe?
I was never meant
to live behind glass
yet here I am
beautiful and breaking
you said I was fragile
then made me so
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 