The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.Christopher Morley
Like a prickly rose, barbed by sharp thorns.
Your hate stabbed me till i bled.
In the back and had no more blood to shed.
I never. ever. Would have held you in my hands
Had i known you belonged to the darker breed.
That in spring, swore to make the masses bleed.
I admit, never to have seen the buzzing bees.
That to green gardens of flowers flock to feed.
From the sweet nectar of your good deeds.
I surely never drank from the petals.
That were grimly clad in funeral black.
Laying to rest the friends that hit the deck.
I knew, deep down you would bore sores.
Into our skin and cause many scars.
That would one day start and end wars.
Perhaps, it was written in the stars.
That mighty men meet their doom.
When you come into full bloom.
© 2020 The Poets Peace