And the beauty seeker
stared at the rose
in wonder
facinated
transfixedly in love
the rose
didn't have thorns
he cut it
wanting it all
to destroy
to own
the red
like blood
the scent
so strong
he took the rose
as it died
in his hands.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the heartless and heartbroken
PoetryMy poetry dwells in the infinite sadness of the broken and the heartless.
