PoetBay.com, the poetry webpage where you can publish your poems and short stories

Wither

She prompted me to go there
where flowers bloom
and
grow petals
one by one
with a thousand colors
of the spectrum
and a touch of gold
by the mighty sun

But I got there
and all I saw
and all my eyes confronted
was
a cold,dead tree
in the middle
of a barren field.
The image of death
disaster, despair
penetrating
the heart that's beating.

I never knew why
the flowers withered
and where
the dead flowers go
when they wither.

Poetry by Eva
Read 1268 times