Roses In the Grave
Roses in the grave
blossomed in no sunlight's glare.
Surprised it survived- timeless.
Roses in the grave
small dark thorns spiked the dead.
Worthless effort leads no changes.
With a dead face you stocked yourself to feel attached;
took your guesses- short-sighted assumptions,
but I assure you that none was correct.
My world within four walls elude you forever.
Promises well-kept, you can never tell.
Your doubt worth's no penny.
A little 'hi' amiable on the face,
with an uninviting grin hidden
with a dagger behind the cameras-
I applaud your sold-out shows.
Hearing the narration of contradictory,
of roses, blood red, blooming in the grave,
I wonder what gave you a pointer
to say what you just mentioned.
Did you not hear yourself speak?
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