flower child
Learn more about other poetry terms
Bed of thorns, vacant flowerbeds,
Flowers plucked and torn, your loyalties shed.
Flower crown of spikes, flower crown of thorns,
Wicked wicker-weaved words swarm.
I'm selling secrets a dozen a bundle
At times, I feel like a small speck in this world.
A small miserable speck.
Why?
Because the galaxies of our universe swallow me up to the point I am digested into the
