I think its time to stop and smell the roses again
Even though
As I pick one
I bleed
The blood trickles down my fingers
And becomes sacred drops
Of essence
A imprinted bottle
I put this red liquid in
Labelling it
Lack of fear...
Pain is temporary
So
I can't help but clench the roses
Still...
In taking senses
Of newness
Fresh air
&
Spring
Blood now pours in buckets...
from fingers
But the pleasure of life
Of love
And smell
Looks past
A single angst
It's the moment
That always mattered
It
Still
ALWAYS
Matters
YOU ARE READING
A Slew of Poems Unrevised
PoetryCascade through the mind OR BETTER How it is formulated within I AND US
