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Wilt
By Accused
Frail stocks of bruised greens,
a path to the sun wilted petals.
Will those hands become rooted stones?
Will those root stones keep me grounded?
Glass shard thorns cause your veins to pulse,
wilting has never seemed so tempting.
Until rosey pink lips.
And watery blue eyes.
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Copyright 2016 Accused
Published on Sunday, August 13, 2017.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "Wilt"
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On Monday, November 19, 2018, Jonas Robinson
(867)
wrote:
This is a damn-good poem which is given no recognition.
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