Best Liferose Poems
As i start chasing, running into the night sky.
I find a feeling, something, to good to let slide.
Realizing I'm now reaching the end.
I come to a bridge, its broken and bent.
It has scars, rust forming on the sides.
What does this mean, was this my life?
I think about everything i did.
I simply wonder, how, why not this.
I walk up to the bridge, and touch the broken step.
It burns many layers on my finger tips
A rose lyes on the other side.
So beautiful, yet, its not mine.
I try to reach, go across the bridge.
But the one step i took it started caving in.
I jump back. realizing that this was everything my life had been.
I proceed and take one step on the bridge, and began to fall.
I open my eyes, the rose is in my hand.
I see my best friend who had died when we were 10.
Flower Power
Someone once told me I was a Rose among the Daisies
I must have been red, for that is my favorite color
Was the Rose better than the Daisies?
Not so fast a deduction!
It was years before I knew what a rose was worth.
The red of a rose is for love and spirit, fire and passion.
The red of strength, the tenderness of a soft petal.
It stands straight, when the wind blows against the daisies
And protects with every thorn.
It's stem is woody and does not break with a pinch.
When it blooms, it's softness can take away pain, sorrow,
Give joy, passion and love
And when it has passed, and dried, it's memory still lives on,
Pressed between a book.
You gave me a rose and now i don't like you.
Now that your gone that rose smells like boo-boo.
Written By: Jesikah Banks (11 year old niece)
Edited by Nicole Brown, her aunt
A red rose is the color of my blood,
A white rose is the color of my soul,
A rose isn't just a rose,
A rose is me,
Sweet but a thorn can hurt you if you r not careful,
A rose is more then just a rose,
A rose is me.
I once saw caterpillars become butterflies,
And Fly high, high into the ash cloud, then plummet to the ash below.
I once saw a rose open its petals under the sun,
As if wanting to embrace and be embraced.
Then from above a hand eclipsed its sun,
And descended towards it, and unknowingly gave the rose the gift of his last breath.
From above I carefully observed to every detail,
From plants decaying to the young child dying.
From above, high above,
I witness something called the symphony of death.
Like A Rose
Like a rose growing in a pile of dirt,
Beauty can grow through a mound of hurt.
Outside soil can’t penetrate,
A filthy soul filled with hate.
Open up your petals wide,
Allow the sunshine to come inside.
Breathe in the cleansing air,
Drink the rain that forms a tear.
Proudly stand all alone.
Like the perfect rose that you’ve grown.