In poetry
A rose isn't a rose
And red isn't red
It isn't love or hearts
Or cherries or blood
In poetry
A rose is a noun
With layers to uncover
Feelings to find
Within the hugging petals
Red isn't red
Rather a lens to see through
A way of living
And married to blue
Love isn't love
Rather a misused knife
A key for manipulation
A way to make or break life
In poetry
A heart isn't a heart
Rather a broken, beaten thing
Sewn back times too many
And a grappling sapling in spring
In poetry
Cherries aren't cherries
Rather the bond we share between friends
The sweetness found in summer and youth
And autumns that never end
In poetry
Blood isn't blood
The force that makes us breath
Rather the profound ability
To be the ink and life of poetry!
About the Creator
T. Licht
I have a love for words and a love to share them.
Well then, enjoy and thank you for taking the time to read this and maybe if you want subscribe;)
The Longest Minute
A minute. Sixty seconds to say goodbye. That’s all the time that I had left with him as the needle slid into his leg. I stared into his drooping eyes, looked at the blood-tainted saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. They said that this was the best thing that we could do for him, a last kind act for a best friend…but if that were the case, then why did my heart feel so heavy?
By Stephanie Hoogstad5 days ago in Fiction
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