Bleeding Rose
20th September, 2015 Writers
In the night,
I heard that last rose petal die. 
Beneath the darkness in my sight,
The loud hush told no lie.

The early morning bird began its song.                    That Rose petal now a thorn.                                   Come run, run come; the bells were rung.
A bleeding heart we will mourn.

In shades of dark baleful colours,
The clouds roam the afternoon sky.
Drip drop, Tear drop; they weep for us.
A basket full of sorrows, come fill the open eye.
Lagos, Nigeria
  • Heartbreak, heartbreak, and the morning after.

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