Tomorrow Will Bring Me Roses
Tomorrow when it comes for me
(and if it comes)
Will bring me roses, just like every other day
Your sweet apologies for everything you said and did
Tied with a silken ribbon like your lies.
Tomorrow when it comes for me
(and if it comes)
Will bring a fog of sunshine to my room
Light up the dust upon the table and the faded chair
The photograph of us beside the lake
So leached of color that we look like ghosts.
Tomorrow when it comes for me
(and when it comes)
The phone will ring and ring and I will let it ring
Until it stops, and never rings again
And I will sit and listen while the roses die
Petal by petal, dropping on the floor.
Tomorrow when it comes for me
(and it will come)
Will bring me rain, and breezes, and a walk alone
And all the roses in the park will nod their heads
As if they are applauding me for breaking free.
But — back at home, a silence. No applause.
No lies, no dying roses, only me.
— Graham Masterton, 2010