How could a withered flower bloom?
When it does not have life
Long forgotten by itself
Long neglected by its body
Nor does its soul have anything to give
How could it live when it's already pale?
How could it attract If it has nothing to give?
How could it grow, nor follow other's steps?
How could the dead be revived If no one would care about it?
Every withered flower once was a flower of life
Of liveliness and bliss
Of love and pride
And yet no one cared for it
So it dies.
Alone and in pain
It's own thorns being lethal for itself
It's leaves falling off
Its petals turning pale
Its smell vanishing along the air that surrounded it as it lived...
No, it could not, and it never will.
Because that is the truth
And the truth would naturally cause pain
There's no coming back when a flower dies...
YOU ARE READING
Let It Drizzle
Poetrycollection of poems that define one's mind. A poem for some memory and throught that 'I' have. Though, would it really be that special if I said it's for my self....?
