Flowers Left
Softest petals, red as blood,
blossoming with hate and love.
Lying in a bed of snow
that bends and weaves, that blooms and grows.
Lost souls wander, never found;
home is buried six feet down.
Dark abyss, the devil’s home;
cold as ice and all alone.
Thorns that cut, a baby’s breath;
intertwined for all that’s left.
Sorrow filled, unhappy peace,
a place that even sun can’t reach.
This poem is about:
My community
Our world