Roses.
Soft, red petals.
Sweet fragrance
clinging to the air
With each breath
The wind breathes.
But there's thorns.
Piercing thorns.
"Don't come close,"
They say,
"Keep away"
And you do.
Until you don't..
Lost in the majesty
of the rosebush.
Pick and smell,
Just don't let
The rose petals drop
Or the flower wilt.
YOU ARE READING
From The Pen To The Soul
PoetrySometimes, writing isn't an option; it's a necessity. This is my story. Everything I write, is a part of me. But it's up to you, to find your story; connect to yourself through my writing. (Most of these are sent to my big sister)
