Three Lines

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Every so often a child is born into death, born into hell. They are my withered roses, destined to crie and fall. Their homes are that of hallowed ground, their blood, that which births a withered rose.

Submitted: February 19, 2008

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Submitted: February 19, 2008

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Three straight lines
Each as crimson as the flame
Three dots
Three strains
What blood falls here
Who bleeds their life
On hallowed ground
Ground charred black
With soot and ash
Who bleeds
Who needs
So desperately
That they will give themselves
To the earth
Loose themselves into the sky
To fall upon the earth
Like the blood that births the withered rose
Who falls here
Three lines
Each a promise
Each a hope
Each a dream
Three lines
As crimson as the flame
Each one
Another forgotten name.


© Copyright 2017 Itsuwari. All rights reserved.

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