Why should I let it be?

Why should I let it be?!

The rose...
Beautifully scarlet;
In each of its petals is a promise.
And rows and rows of them there are...
Promises.
So near, so approachable;
Very much pluckable.

It stands there winking,
Swaying with the wind.
As the little buds look up coyly
I envy its playful nods at them.

Ah... Enticing it is;
It's perfume a sweet snare;
Drawn I am to it, wherever I go.
My senses do not heed my conscience,
When I hear its call.

Many sighs, more tremors, and the pain
That I can't wish away;
Semi-sweet, still bitter;
Very much a part, still remote.

Rose. Is just another flower.
And 'the' rose is just another rose.
Its colour, its fragrance, its petals;
All elements of nature's design,
They sustain the game of life.

That's that.
To tell that to the insipid creature
That dwells inside me...
She will never listen.
Or will she?

Is it rose now?
  It was moon once;
     Sea, on a different day;
       Tree, for a month;
And for a fortnight long,
My wishes glided along that river
Its surface an eternal mirror,
           Insides a whirlwind

Let them be. I did. In the end.
In the end,
Who had lost, who won?
If one says there is no end,
wouldn't that mean no one lost?