August Blues
I'm not as traditional as the all American apple pie.
More like that burnt bun cake that's been left in too long.
Beauty from afar, so much damage inside.
Longing for something to change,
Yet everything remains the same.
Take me away from this place,
I would like to play a game.
Hide and seek and I seek a young woman.
That evolved into a rose which grew from concrete.
Watered by life's ups and downs.
And was given a voice by God's grace.
Only time will tell if she continues to think she's untraditional or that burnt bun cake...
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: