A flower wilts
And its petals fall slowly through the air
As if they are suspended by an unimaginable force.
Soon the flower turns a dull colour
And it degrades back into the Earth it grew from.
It's an endless cycle
And I can't decided whether it's a lovely one or not.
For such beautiful things to be beautiful for a short time
Seems a waste
But isn't that humanity?
We are born a good person
And we grow into who we want to be,
Most of us have our petals
And all of us have thorns
And we wilt
And we die
And from the Earth new, more beautiful life is formed.
-by holly boyd
YOU ARE READING
Words We Cannot Speak
PoetryPoems; Woe and hope, love and despair Poems mend us, they repair. Broken souls mixed with broken minds, Poems teach us what it is to be alive. They offer thoughts to inspire. They give us hope to aspire, They answer unanswerable questions They offer...
