The Root System
From our depths may we find life
By H. J. LevonPublished 2 years ago • Updated 2 years ago • 1 min read
Vultures circle from the skies above
Oh how I wish they were a collection of doves
Maybe they recognize I am already dead
As we swirl this crystal glass with a serving of red
A crown of tongues now turned to thorns
As thistles and weeds shackle the oxen’s horns
A yolk of ease, a burden of light
As we pluck the petals from roses at night
It matters not the virgin’s cry
When one bears a scarlet letter threaded upon their tie
If freedom is rooted in the acceptance of fate
Then let it be destiny to purge all of this hate
- H. J. Levon
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