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More from BlueJay25
A tree, through which light
from the sun trickles onto
a bed of flowers
sleeping below and
rustling in the faint summer breeze.
I pick a flower, ending its
life.
I weep with its
end.
Put your arms around me and
cradle me in your tight embrace.
Whisper sweet nothings into my ear as
we lay among the flowing grasses.
Delude me, lover.
I will follow the crux, even
unto oblivion;
for what is blood,
anyway?
Just tell me that,
like the flower,
we will
grow again.
from the sun trickles onto
a bed of flowers
sleeping below and
rustling in the faint summer breeze.
I pick a flower, ending its
life.
I weep with its
end.
Put your arms around me and
cradle me in your tight embrace.
Whisper sweet nothings into my ear as
we lay among the flowing grasses.
Delude me, lover.
I will follow the crux, even
unto oblivion;
for what is blood,
anyway?
Just tell me that,
like the flower,
we will
grow again.
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 85 x 120px
File Size 19 kB
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