Stop and smell the roses, they say.
There are no roses
In your concrete cities
To smell
Towers of metal and glass
Block the sun
Block the clouds
Walking in their oppressive shadows.
Go to work
Go to school
There is no time for play
Flowers in the supermarket, waiting.
They're dead
From somewhere else
Faraway
Your concrete cities
Quench the life
Of every living thing
The roses
They wither and die
Cut from their roots
People are roses
Living in boxes
In your concrete cities
YOU ARE READING
Of Humans and Kings
Poesía"With her firestorm eyes and her watery soul It dripped away in pieces, no longer whole" A collection.
