|Teen Poetry #1|
since 1999-07-15Posts 16
colo. spgs. , co, usa
Blood runs from my palm clinched tight,
From nails put through me.
My wounds are protected by might
Forcing my eyes to select what i see.
She opens petal by petal. Sweetly
Caressing the breeze with her lips.
Fresh to each new day, discretely
Brushing away the sorrow from her hips.
As I hang, she grows more beautiful,
A rose growing in concrete -silently.
Her life ahead seeems so fruitful
A life I fight for voilently.
Every rose has it’s thorns, pricking,
Drawing blood from the soul of my feet.
But what my hurts my soul, my soul adores, picking
Thorns from the stems of flowers i meet.
I don’t know why she opens and closes.
I wonder if it can pry open my fingers,
and I wonder why it effects theses roses.
The only thin I smell, is the oder that lingers.
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