Sometimes when I'm weary
I think in terms of a garden
where perhaps I am simply
a strangely crafted vase.
Let this explain my fragility.
Yesterday, you were my rose
elegant with your beauty to my eyes
but, your words were thorns
sharp and unpleasant to my heart.
Still I held onto you last night
regardless, let you wilt into me.
By morning light you were anew
my dandelion, precious to the world
bright and energetic swaying
this way and that with the morning breeze.
Tonight, I'll make a wish against
your skin with my lips so that your
troubles won't leave you withered
and hope my love shall help you—
Flourish
YOU ARE READING
Dedicated to the Words
PoesíaA series of random pieces put in one place. I like to think that there's nothing more exciting than the roller coaster of life. Some pieces may be very sad but I enjoyed writing them and I hope you enjoy reading them. Please vote, share, and comment...
