I actually wrote this one after The Bramble Boy poem, but i somehow didn't upload this one. Anyway it's here now so enjoy.
We are the roses,
stuck in the thorns.
They see the corpses.
Dying people, by the sound of horns.
Roses are known,
for their colour, red.
But you wear the crown,
you lock us in the shed.
Our cries are whispers,
our vails are songs,
you wanna be the hipsters,
breaking our necks in tongues.
We are the roses,
covered in thorns.
You protect us from them,
But not from our own sons
