Violence is never the answer
But if the rose wraps round her cup
If the rose grows never wild
Set her alight.
A disease spreads
The answer is always no
Or no response at all
Oh placid ignorant bliss
The streets are cracked
The houses lean in
The kitchens are tidy
The children are hungry
Violence is never the answer
But this world will not listen
And I would rather be a rebel
Than a slave.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
