'The gifts I gave you' series
Poem #1
'🌹'
Flowers, a thing to behold.
The poppies, baby's breath, and Marigolds.
Varying scents that bring me calm.
Laying in a wind whipped meadow singing me a song.
Beauty that none can resemble,
Yet delicate wings flock to your temple.
Very ornamental, it makes me tremble,
Harboring a scent that is transcendental.
Gives me proof of something special.
And flowers no matter how beholding,
Can not compare to a thing so golden.
YOU ARE READING
Volcanos hate control
Storie breviA collection of excerpts and metaphors describing hate, frustration, memories, and lost letters. Letters covered in salty tears and bitter flicks of the wrist as they were born onto white lined paper.
