Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Finish


We are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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Comments about this poem (Finish by Charles Bukowski )

  • Rookie Shadow Girl (6/15/2011 9:11:00 AM)

    It takes a genius to fit so much meaning into so little words - love it - so true. SG (Report) Reply

  • Rookie Kentucky Refugee (2/10/2008 9:39:00 AM)

    Perhaps with a summer of patient sun, both roses would bloom. Perhaps transplanting them into a sunnier place would do the trick. (Report) Reply

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