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Not Much More
January 21, 2013
Flowers, when they droop,
Remind me of society.
The broken girl, whose father,
Concerning her beauty never made a sound.
To the eldest son, who couldn’t
Fit the expectations; he let them all down.
To the forgotten mother,
Who bows her head crying, wondering
If her darling child, away, is dying.
To the fail of a father who walks alone,
Head to the floor,
‘Cause his family finally shut the door.
What’s society going to do next
To the once beautiful souls of this nation?
There’s not much more it can do,
We’re already kinda really screwed…
© Alana R., Dallas, OR
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