A fragile flower bends in the breeze
Its petals drop one by one with such ease
They lay on the ground and then blow away
The buds that had blossomed are gone in one day
That same fragile flower echoes our love
The seed we planted was nurtured above
We once blossomed but have now slowly faded
Our strong passionate vines have since become jaded
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"But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think."
it is an enjoyable read but then again everything you wirte is enjoyable to read
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I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain and yet, I'm still here to explain.
That the darkest hour never comes in the night, you can sleep with a gun....but when ya gonna wake up and fight.......for yourself -Shinedown
Lubesh, you've given me so many comments, and I apologize I have not returned the favor.
This is a beautiful work, though I'm far from a poet, I truly appreciate the sentiment, it's funny how what starts out so enthusiastic and heartfelt, often begins to fade, turning flowers into thorns.
Often its true that the ones we love are the ones we hurt the most, and you've captured that sentiment perfectly here. Very good job, and perfect poem!
__________________ When writing a character, the character writes you.
When writing a character, the character writes you.
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