They are in my pocket as I look out into the field
The sun shines down on them making them real
I pick and pluck as I talk to myself
This field of flowers is asking for help
People like me they come and they pick
The choose so carefully but they all end up dead
The difference between people like me and people who don't care
I pick the beautiful and the broken
and I take them home to put in a jar
where I'll water them and watch them grow
These flowers in my pocket
They are special all on their own
The people who care will make it known
YOU ARE READING
Hour glass
PoetryPoetry of pain and hardships, you're never alone even though it may feel like it but time always runs out
