I was brilliant
like picking a stubborn rose
and pricking my lovely fingers
I was gentle
like stoking a soft, dying rose
with my lovely fingers
I was dead
I buried the rose
soil on my lovely fingers.
"How could you?" I asked her- she bandaged my pricked fingers.
"How could you?" I asked him- he put my dying rose in water.
"How could you?" I asked myself.
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okay, i gotta admit, this poem is really pretty, and really well-written. i love the pictures in my head and the vibe i get from this. very awesome.
ReplyDeleteps, i think i know what i'm doing for your present now. :)) thought you'd like to know.