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Rose Colored Glasses
December 14, 2019
The world keeps spinning:
so dizzily that it creates a migraine.
Like a storm brewing in Tornado Alley,
like a merry-go-round that never seems to halt.
Loud, annoying, pounding in the halls of my mind.
This flying ball of energy we call “home”.
Giant globes of gas that we call “planets”.
The world can be unfair,
but the world also grows roses out of compost.
Each sad tear shed,
a newborn baby also sheds a tear.
A fresh, precious life.
© Lina A., Worcester, MA
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This poem is about looking on the bright side of life, it is about looking at life through rose colored glasses.