People, places, and things,
Are all taken for granted,
At some point in their lifetime.
Too old,
Too ugly,
Too boring.
An empty reason
Is all that’s needed
To toss them out
Like broken flowers.
Out of you life,
Heart, mind,
And onto the cold street,
Into the cold world.
The things,
They tumble.
Tumble with the wind,
From hands to dumps,
From worn
To soil.
The places,
They whisper.
Whisper through their empty halls,
Down their empty streets,
From quiet
To silent.
The people,
They wilt.
From tall and proud,
To small and humble.
From broken
To fallen.
A broken flower,
Gently lowers its beautiful spirit.
When no one comes
To shine love on its petals,
And shower it with praise,
Its gentle spirit,
Lowers nearer to the soil.
Its once loudly declared beauty,
Now is breathtakingly silent.
The once sophisticated flower,
Has now fallen.
I see these weary souls,
These broken flowers,
And my heart sinks.
I gather broken flowers into baskets,
And use them,
To hold my heart up.
Age 15
Are all taken for granted,
At some point in their lifetime.
Too old,
Too ugly,
Too boring.
An empty reason
Is all that’s needed
To toss them out
Like broken flowers.
Out of you life,
Heart, mind,
And onto the cold street,
Into the cold world.
The things,
They tumble.
Tumble with the wind,
From hands to dumps,
From worn
To soil.
The places,
They whisper.
Whisper through their empty halls,
Down their empty streets,
From quiet
To silent.
The people,
They wilt.
From tall and proud,
To small and humble.
From broken
To fallen.
A broken flower,
Gently lowers its beautiful spirit.
When no one comes
To shine love on its petals,
And shower it with praise,
Its gentle spirit,
Lowers nearer to the soil.
Its once loudly declared beauty,
Now is breathtakingly silent.
The once sophisticated flower,
Has now fallen.
I see these weary souls,
These broken flowers,
And my heart sinks.
I gather broken flowers into baskets,
And use them,
To hold my heart up.
Age 15