Withered Flower, Dying Flower

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


Another original poem authored by me.

Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Submitted: August 28, 2018

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Withered flower, dying flower,

gleaming in the light;

if I go out, and pick you out,

will you be my guide tonight?

 

Your mangled leaves resemble scars,

they tell us of what you've been through,

and when you're finally done, and ready to pass on,

we'll have the ability to see how society had treated you.

 

You've been spit on, beaten on,

you are torn and you are weak

those close to you say nothing,

but behind your back, they call you a freak.

 

Compared to the roses around you,

you bear resemblance to a hopeless fly,

barely making it and living, day by day,

and just honestly ready to die.

 

Well, you'll stand out in that field of roses,

your life nothing but an inspiration for those struggling to survive,

while the angel stands patiently at the Pearly Gates,

 expecting for you to arrive.

 

Withered flower, dying flower,

you shine brightly throughout the night,

when I go out, I'll pick you out,

and I promise that you will shine bright.


© Copyright 2018 Andrew Patterson. All rights reserved.

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