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the garden

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a garden of black flowers
wilting petals
scorched and sweet
fumes of fire
seeping into the air
with a tinge of freshness
and rebirth in the scent
the dark abyss of thoughts
with a hundred black roses
as you walk down the path
with burnt pebbles on the ground
it's a carpet of ashes
and you walk across them
as you reach for the one rose
the black one with the deepest depth
the darkest darkness
the sweetest relief
you yearn and you yearn
and you tread through the rubble
the remains of your past
of the flowers that once lived
in color
but there is an end to the ashes
where the mother rose lies
there cannot be ashes
and one day
I promise
you will find your way out
of the garden.

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Linn said...
Sep. 24 at 3:34 pm
A metaphorical poem written with strong words. I enjoyed much and learned so. My eyes are pleased, good job!
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