each petal falls to the ground,
it shows I let it down,
the rose in my hand is dying,
my body is too dry for crying.
each thorn that's pain to touch,
the danger unsaid; too much,
the rose in my hand is dying,
my body is too weak for fighting.
the leaves has dried,
the tendrils were no longer tied,
the rose in my hand is dying,
my body is too dull for shining.
the rose in my hand was beautiful,
day by day; it gets careful,
I never said it was dangerous,
somehow it turned into scandelous.
they stole the beautiful rose,
so it fell into the dirty hands of those,
it was never been cared,
until one day; it killed them and I was spared.
the rose in my hand is dying,
it shows my time is coming,
when the last petal falls,
I won't send him my last calls.
by ; z.
20th April 2021 ; 9:30 a.m
YOU ARE READING
random poems
Poetry•°. *࿐ a collection of random poems some are written by myself and some of it are my own favourite poems
