The flowers
were never called beautiful,
so I buried them,
and watered their grave
with metaphors
everyday.
"How are they now
six feet under?"
they asked.
"Finally, they are loved."
— Jan Di
YOU ARE READING
In Dreams, We Find Our Rhymes
PoetryWell, I just can't describe my poems better than how this piece of mine describes them. 🌠 "What My Poetry Is Made Of" I am not someone who has rich vocabulary. My phrases, my clauses will always be ordinary, so I just use the simple words that I...
