People are roses
Some grow beautiful and bright
Others grow twisted and dark
Never knowing what's right
People sow the seeds of doubt and hate
The seeds grow into choking weeds that do not abate
Twisted, bent, suffocating, dying
Some roses flourish under the sun
Their petals vibrant
And under their beauty, there lies a tryant
A sickly smell
That anyone can tell
Is a death of another person
I grow twisted
Never seeing the sun
Never knowing fun
The weeds choke me and bring me down
And people ask me why I frown
Twisted Roses,
Twisted Roses,
Roses of Fright
Vibrant Roses,
Vibrant Roses,
Roses of Light
YOU ARE READING
Inner Silence
PoésieThe inner silence is always there. Waiting. watching. recording. Recording the chaos and misery of my existence. A collection of depressing poems of my life.
