Author Information
Widowed Phoenix
ROSES ARE RED...
So was the blood dripping from my lips when you taught them how to speak
VIOLETS ARE BLUE...
Like the day old bruises, your fists with fury, delivered on my back to correct my mistakes
ROSES ARE RED...
Comparable to my bloodshot eyes from sleepless nights of tossing and turning, to comfort my cracked ribs
VIOLETS ARE BLUE...
Similar to the tint of my sunglasses, that hide my stupidity, and your anger
ROSES ARE RED...
Like the blood that drips from my shoulder, where the geometrical mirror glass tattooed your fury
VIOLETS ARE BLUE...
Similar to the prison blues, I now adorn with pride, day after day
ROSES ARE RED...
As crimson as the pool of blood you ceased in, as dark as the dried ancestry under my fingernails
VIOLETS ARE BLUE...
Comparable to the sky I see only once a day, but transparent blue
ROSES ARE RED...
Like the flames the phoenix rose from, to free herself.
A great modern take on a
A great modern take on a classic... you embolden it with meaning.
WOW! Masterpiece! So clever! this amazing subversion of a what is usally a trite expression of love, to convey such angst and torment! Well done!
Dear Jessica
Wow! What can one say…
I’m sitting here for a while, starring at your poem – so much pain… Why? We can’t understand, you can just walk away from it.
Greetings from Down Under
Donkerman
18 Years Ago
Long Tme - welcome back.