You were my flower.
I picked you.
Little flower,
beautiful and bright,
soft and light.
Tenderly you rested
In my open hands
Little flower.
Your gentle petals
caressed my scarred palms
Your colors stained me
and made me lovely again.
But oh,
Little flower,
I knew you could not last.
Your colors faded away
your petals dried out
I watched you evanesce
In my very own hands.
But do not fret,
Little flower.
you colors,
your fragrance,
your memory
lives on
pressed between the pages of my heart.
Je t'aime, petite fleur.
YOU ARE READING
Hidden Emotion
PoetryThe words that die on my tongue bloom on paper. My mind is the quill, and my tears are the ink. ABSOLUTELY AMAZING COVER ART BELONGS TO: @Sarahishamiltontrash
