The words unsaid

Where pretty petals fall like tears, upon a rosy cheek,
and many wreaths against a wall brighten up the bleak.
When eyes cast down upon the ground see nothing but the past, and all is lost and never found amongst their very last.
A lonely rose flies like a dove onto the carriage roof
and long sad faces flow with love, the plumes above the hoof.
Pity those who never chose to be part of this place.
and pity those who stand and pray for souls now full of grace.
The creaking sound of wooden round upon the tarmac road, and drumming of the heavy hooves break the silence of the load.
Such sadness hangs upon the air like a storm cloud overhead, and thoughts disturb the many words that still remain unsaid.
Roger Houlding c:2017