Therapeutic Stories

The Roses are Red

The roses are red

And the sky is grey

As the smoke billows in clouds

From the factories below

While the chimneys exhale

Puff Puff Puff

The smoke comes out from them

And the grass is dead

Dry and sharp against little feet

But the roses are red

Red with blood

As they cry from the death that surrounds

And the grasshoppers joyfully hop through the grass

As they are now in camouflage

While the birds eat the rats from the sewers

Rotting from the inside

Rotting painfully in silence

And the oxygen in the air withers

As the smoke rises higher and higher

Blocking out the sun

Blocking in everything else

And the roses are red

For they are responsible for bringing color

But they are red with blood

And the dogs walk through the alleys

Their skin glued to their ribs

And they search for a morsel

So their pain may be removed

But the humans are so generous

They always give something

Whether food or a kick

And maybe a yell for good measure

The dogs scatter off like cats

While the dogs are happy with what they can get

The humans beg for more

And they scratch and claw and kick their path

If only to get a spot up top

If only to be known by everyone

And the roses watch them

They watch how trivial the humans can be

For the roses are red with blood

The blood of those around them