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AbbottJHardisonPoems
As each electric rose blooms The ground dries some more. The holy soil Is tilled sore. As the neon red fills the rooms I close my eyes And pray. I pray and try to ignore The blossoming red of doom. But the apocalypse still looms The holy soil cries too. God I hope God has some kind of plot I don’t want to see Our little places Rot. I don’t want to hear That the peaceful world Was forgot.
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Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:33 PM UTC
Fluorescent Forests
As each electric rose blooms The ground dries some more. The holy soil Is tilled sore. As the neon red fills the rooms I close my eyes And pray. I pray and try to ignore The blossoming red of doom. But the apocalypse still looms The holy soil cries too. God I hope God has some kind of plot I don’t want to see Our little places Rot. I don’t want to hear That the peaceful world Was forgot.
When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always. -Gandhi
#safety#lately
AbbottJHardison
Written by
AbbottJHardison
15/M/Rochester NY
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 3:33 PM UTC
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