Buried deep in the soil and watered by the rain,
There's a rotting body; a skeleton in pain
Flowers grow upon the grave, unknown to the ground above;
Living hiding the dead inside, true happiness: void of.
Rats burrow in the ribcage, worms sleep inside the eyes,
Roses growing from the fingertips, truth hiding behind lies.
Overgrown, weed filled grass in a messy garden,
Hidden more as the ground begins to harden.
In winter, a white blanket hides the sins the ground does hold,
In summer the garden is still dying despite the none existent cold.
Waiting for them to change is like waiting for the rain after drought;
Inevitably, rain will come, but it will be after a long hard struggle,
Probably too late, when all the crops are already dead.
What I'm trying to say is, you'll realise too late the damage you've done,
And change long after it matters to me anymore.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoezieI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
