The flower that sits undisturbed,
the one that is first, yet last to be served,
filled with all the color,
and not as common as it's red loving brother.
Why can't the Single rose make a single difference?
Its presence
changes our very essence!
So why do we deny,
its color that makes us die?
Why, death is a part of us anyway,
Don't try to play
my heart, is broken.
My will has been spoken.
My heart shattered,
(not that I mattered).
But all of this is to be repaired again,
By the one I call my closest friend.
Never saying who,
But they know who they are it's true.
That they turned my heart out of the blue.
YOU ARE READING
...
PoetryMy second book of poems, love these poems a lot, I love all of my poems for that matter.
