Given the time
Given the day
Winter is coming near
And like a leaf
Or an old maple tree
I wilt and die just the same
Whether winter or not
I'll wither away
Just the same
Only one person is to blame
And it's my thoughts
Or rather me
That keeps me withering
Finally the summer is coming
But my withering doesn't change
Like a little leaf
On a cold winter day
I wither just the same
The darkness fills my heart inside.
I'm left to burn, char and die.
Why does this sorrow just come to me?
Why do I always pay the fee?
My heart just burns,
The smoke churns
And I'm just left to wither.
The shadows hunt,
Like I'm a runt.
Darkness fills a void.
Hell now screams,
Burnt all my dreams
Now I'm burnt and toyed.
Hell now slithers,
And I'm just left to Wither.
And just like that the rain was gone.
The puddles were the only thing that remained.
They reminded me of the rain.
How it fell so beautifully,
How it spoke so softly,
How it left without saying goodbye.
All that remains now are the puddles,
Until they too wither away in silence.
It's hard to exude the kind of confidence that makes people respect you.
I'm a grown woman, but I've yet to master it.
When I'm told no, when I'm told
"You can't do that," "Don't act like that," or "That's not okay," I can scream and argue in my head, but my body cowers.
And I'm no longer the woman I thought I was-
Strong and independent.
I'm a withered flower that may have once been blooming but is now reduced to nothing.
I was just like you
I rose with the rising sun
I brought a smile to all those who passed by me
Alan spoke about my colour
Brendon was amazed at my arrangement
Claire wanted to touch me
Dorothy wanted her perfume with the fragrance I carried
Emily wanted to take me with her
Francis wanted to give me to his lady love,
I thought I was the most important being on earth
I thought everyone loved me
I thought I brought a smile to people's face.
Am no longer loved,
Alan just walked by
Brendon bothered not
Claire cared not
Dorothy drove past
Emily ensured the same as did
Am nothing more than a withered rose
With my strewn petals in the pathway
And that's right
Step on or sweep away
All you people
Might one day end up just like me!!!
- A Withered Yellow Rose.
I will always remember the day Grandma exclaimed how much of a joy my brother was. She would call him her perfect little flower.
As a child, it didn't mean much to me. But as I grew older, I came to realize the truth behind her words...
He was a daisy blooming in the spring. Where as I, a dead rose, slowly withering away. However, it wasn’t my choice, nor was it my brothers
Because a flower doesn’t get to choose what it grows into. It’s gardener determines how to raise it, how to treat it, and how to tend to it's individual needs.
Society was my gardener.
My point is, society labeled me as a dying rose, so eventually, I believed them.