The flower,
In a field of grass,
Moving its damp petals,
And a bulbous, bulbous mass.
It pulsates and quivers,
As it basks in the light,
A bizarre and twisted thing,
In the dead of the night.
It sings a strange song,
As the wind starts to blow,
A strange and eerie sound,
That seems to come from below.
But still it stands tall,
In all its weird glory,
A strange and wondrous sight,
In a world that's often ho-hum and boring.
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Musings: A Collection of Contradictions
PoetryThis a humble endeavor to capture the different facets of life as I see it. These poems/shorts are an attempt to make sense of the world and my place in it through the medium of words. They may not always seem entirely coherent, but they come from t...
