Stranded by the seashore
Trash stuck in its roots
Losing sense of what it's supposed to be
as flowers they bloom
Tossed by the wind,
Crushed by the feet
Of passersby - strangers
Yet like flowers they bloom
Picked when not ready
Sold for the pleasures of many
Distracted by its own beauty
Flowers still bloom
But flowers die too.
They wither; they stop glowing
When time has come, the flowers that bloom
Will bloom no more.
~HD
YOU ARE READING
Deepest Part of the Ocean
PoetryMy thoughts are unfiltered like an ocean; some words are unexplainable, and like life, my words come from somewhere. A journey, a lesson, a heartbreak, and everything in between.
