Promise me the orchid
I couldn't bloom into,
the prize of beauty was too great,
the prying eyes were busy measuring my bosom,
and the hands were trying to grasp.
Promise me the Iris
I couldn't speak;
the prize of freedom was too daunting,
the eyes of everybody was scorning
and mouth were busy to criticize.
Promise me the Lily
I couldn't keep
the ultimate prize they could have,
they tore me apart,
they deflowered
and then I lay among the fallen petals.
But now, promise me
at least you'll lay the black rose
on my grave?
-05.04.21
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
National Poetry Writing Month '21
PoesiaWelcome to NaPoWriMo challenge of April '21. I wish that you enjoy going through my poems just as I'll be enjoying brainstorming for them.
