The Frozen Rose

Cold beauty behind a screen of glass
The seeker of perfection asks
Why the moment of perfection passed
Suspended in a transparent mask
A sterile hostage to memories past.

All the senses of desire
Now reduced to tearful stares
Passion forced by time retires
And only light can penetrate her lair
No trembling hands can touch her there.

When did your fragile heart suppose
That you would become a frozen rose
Captured in a glacial pose
Beyond the task of those that know
You always where a frozen rose.