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Man Feb 2021
in her clenched hand
she held a rose,
recently wilted

i saw its thorns
dug into her palm
like wire barbed

small and unassuming
gasping for breath
she had the heavy scent
of gasoline
each iris was a lit match
and she laid her gaze on me

let me be your fuel,
burn me down
and lament over the ashes
A little rain then
Sun, the wilted flower speaks
Its song of the truth.
Graveyards turn to flowerbeds,
Watch the petals dance with me.
Ayesha May 2020
Flowers that I hung,
so ardently, on New Year
are now bathed in dust.

It may be difficult
For a flower to bloom
But it withers
In a little while

When the last drop of youth
Has been sipped
And we become nothing
But struggling, boring adults—

You'll look back
At this moment
And wonder if you
Bloomed well

Because nothing
Hurts more
Than realizing
That you are

Just a wilted flower
From the start

Never bloomed
Never blossomed
An unfolded flower—
From the very beginning
JA Perkins May 2020
Day after day, I rivel.
Who knows for how long?
Reduced to mere survival
screaming it’s selfish undertone.
Aspiration is long forgotten
If I live, to what avail?
Despair darkens my demeanor
Time and time again, I fail.
Compassion is now contended;
Making less sense than it did before
And those who are offended
break the hinges off my door.
Disappointment - my adornment
as if I’m capable of more..
If only they knew the torment
that is relentless at my core.  
Wisdom only mocks me.
She dances around my doom
singing, “Here lies a foolish boy
who followed freedom to his tomb.”
Now I’m cast to raging seas;
A boat beaten by an angry wave;
unanswered cries like pleas
from crows that cry above my grave.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Ah, Lord, You know.
But I am left to wonder why
every attempt to be the hero
turns to ashes when I die.
All this foolishness will follow
as I lay down and return to dust
and time is sure to swallow
all these fallacies I trust.
A far cry by: Dry Bones
Salmabanu Hatim Feb 2020
She blossomed,
Unfolding her beauty,
Petal by petal,
A perfect rose,
Sweet and  fragile,
Caressed by innocence.
He came into her room one night,
Her own peer,
He violated her,
Took away her purity,
Crushed her trust,self respect and joy,
With his greed,lust and evil intentions.
I could see her dark rimmed eyes, sad and haunted,
Now a tattered rose.
leo arden Aug 2019
dear                  ,

exalt your stature

as the prided flower

in this field

of the wilted.
this is for you.
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