White roses can be stained
They can be ripped and torn
White roses can be stained
Even the purest of hearts
Will one day know sin
And hatred
And death
The most innocent of eyes
Will be open to gunshots
And wounds
And war
No matter how hard we
Shield them from darkness
It always finds a way in
It seeps through cracks
And slides under doors
And buries itself deep inside
Now the white rose is stained
Blotches of sin and hatred
Corrupt her petals
Now, the white rose is stained
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Whispers Of Our Soul
PoetryWords are the lifeline that connect my heart to the world. This is a collection of my 2am confessions and my 12pm ideas. Told from the viewpoint of my struggling mind, my broken heart, my wild soul, and my screaming mouth. "Distruggi quello che ti d...
