My view of the world
through rose tinted glasses.
I hope that we can pick up roses
hand them to each other
rather than point weapons upon
brothers & sisters.
But a rose is a sour beauty
for even thorns can bleed
deeper than a dull sword.
We must speak to each other find
solace in others humanity.
For words can heal rifts that started
long before we were born.
But syllables latching on to the misgivings
of insecurities can wound.
Like papercuts on the mind,
speaking to the shallow cradles swinging
in a hateful wind of whispers flawed.
I wear glasses that I take of every now
and then, I have a idealistically flawed
view seeing the potential of us.
But knowing we can fall harder
than when can get up.
