Budded, broke unto true bloom.
Petunia by any name.
Stalking petals in the room.
Presence of flowers but, a game.
Silken twists of pretty petal.
Thine beauty played to music loud
To the hell of heavy metal.
Enough to wake dead ones, in the crowd.
Sleeping souls that cannot hear.
Beat of tree trunks as they fall.
Holding none, who still live dear.
Trunks of trees, making poles, as such support, the sleepers call.
The voice of twisted sisters here.
Listen close and thy shall hear
(c)Livvi