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A vase full of opium poppies,
Forced smiles, swaying bodies.
A room full of hypocrisy,
Ashen visages, cruel aristocracy.
Drugged veins, pores of doom,
Seldom sane, a bloom filled with gloom.
Sorrows in life, out of breath,
Addicted to griefs, no peace even in death.
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The Forgotten Language of Flowers
PoetryFlowers are gentle beings. They whisper tales as old as time. But with the passage of father time, the inhabitants of mother earth have forgotten all about their tales. Now, it is but a forgotten language. Let us explore the secrets of the blossoms...
