deepundergroundpoetry.com

Thorns

I cup the flower
In my hand
But its fragrance
I cannot stand
Drawn by a myth
Of forevermore
Buts its thorns
Leave me sore
Beautiful
To a fault
I cannot condone
Its ever present assault
Born of betrayals
And ancient lies
Where only pain
Can reside
Lying down before me
Willing my tenderness
Asking for a love
I can not address
Petals fall
As I tear apart the flesh
Blood stained finger tips
Of which we are not meshed

Indie Adams 2011
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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