Some flowers were never made to be smells,

While so may other throught their perfume, you,

hypnotise the poor insects to the core of their heart,

Taking time to digest their prey,

Such act is pure, nobody choose their own identity.

Even the roses have learn to prick,

Such is nature,

Firework to heaven or firecracker to hell.

If I had the choice I would be a cactus,

Basking under the sun,

Warning the passer by ,not to come to close,

But how could I refuse a lost soul,

In my desert, to cut me in half and drunk his last hope to find his path

 To freedom.



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jimtwocrows's picture

I have to credit the title of

I have to credit the title of this poem it insipired me to write one of my own. Thanks Herve!