The Rose

Its Raskolnikov

In a field, a field of pain,

Comes down the rain,

And I try to become more than what I've done,

I am the storm,

Every minute passes like a century, 

The only thing I've ever had was a voice to keep me warm,

I long for someone to tell me my name,

It's went down the drain,

I look up from the grass and see a bird,

It swoops down to a flower,

In this flower I saw a face,

For the rest of my life I wanted to look every hour,

From this flower a beautiful voice,

And it gave me a choice to listen,

So I did, and now I listen to its music, 

The only real music I've ever heard,

The Rose, the only flower I've ever preferred,

  • Author: Raskolnikov (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 22nd, 2018 11:06
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
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  • brokenmirrors

    Really enjoyed this read.
    “And I try to become more than what I've done” - Genius!

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