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Plump cherries bloom in red,
In front of them is nature's blood.
Holy liquor, provider of life,
Slowly rots with doubtful eyes.
Down a marcid girl weeps dust,
Her tears of drought carve soil rust.
No sign of life is within view,
In her bed of auburn hue.
Deep beneath, a siren sings,
A haunted tune of sorrow clings.
Let them flourish, let them know,
The red they see is an angel sown.
Six feet down, she’ll try her best,
From her waning pulse to eternal rest.
She’ll pull the roots with all she had,
And let them know to not be scared.
Six feet down, hard she’ll weep,
To not shed dirt but let blue seep.
She’ll bring up life, good or ****,
And let them grow from memory seeds.
Six feet down, is a praying soul,
Hoping they'll see through the cracks and the holes.
Until then, let them know, let them know,
That all that's red is not a life gone cold.
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Peekaboo! Im not dead! Yet-
What do you guys interpret from this piece?
~
Thank you Agnes, for giving me the push just when I needed.
It truly means so, so much to me!
Love