poetry

Lamentation

words wrought sometimes in desolation
that pain brought of infatuation
with her ways, my fascination
never ceases, never falters
despite the fairness of her station
and that she plays to my elation
still this lingering frustration
I am not worthy, never alters.

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Painted Roses

they built upon the meadowlands
drove roads across the moors
until the only flowers left
were painted roses on their doors

once their world was fresh and green
but isn’t anymore
they felled the forest for the trees
and painted roses on their doors

and when at last their world fought back
seeking an eternal cure
not one of them was left to paint
new roses on their doors.