Untitled
la-Dejah Fowler
“Blankets me as if I had fur growing out of my skin
The ink sings a soft smooth gentle lullaby
His words are reflecting off of his heart
Reflecting off of him like a mirror
As the sun scorches the small delicate rose cries a loud cry to the sky
For Its color is falling off as each cell evaporates
For it is the only thing that can save it
The sky in reply hushes and cooes the delicate rose
As it pours its glory on each pettle
And takes its hand and lifts the head of the rose for it had hung in sorrow but it is now to be brought back to life