From far away
I have to say
I thought that they
were flowers.
You promised me
that they would be
happiness
for many hours.
I caught them all
I do recall
being happy
with the flowers.
But then the scorn
in hidden thorns
all the petals
went sour.
You promised me
that they were to be
just pretty little
flowers.
But your words,
they were a curse
and now the pain
is ours.
You didn't know,
I don't think so,
that your act
would be your power.
But the beads of blood
started to flood
and it was because
of your sweet flowers.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
