Sunday, February 20, 2011


A lotus grows in the mud,
Something beautiful,
out of the abyss,
Is not a mistake to me.
A rose withers,
A rose blooms,
A rose is stepped upon in hate,
We are that trampled rose,
We are not beautiful.

A rose,
Painted red,
Rising from the ashes,
of lover's prose.

A rose once read,
Slowly dying,
Like the flames from a first love,
Now dead.

From death,
Breathes new life,
The unforgotten promise,
Putting His name on the line.

We walk a fine line,
For we are not divine,
We are not special,
We are not new,
We are not worthy of new breathe or life,
...So why must we try to be beautiful?
Why must we try, to be something we are not?

A spider spins a splendid web,
A butterfly lives for only a day,
A bee toils for its queen,
Why oh why oh why?

Because life is cruel,
But also divine,
So haunting and so lovely,
Both at the same time

Life is the sweet nectar,
Of a job well done,
The ambient twirl,
of the cosmic symphony.

A symphony of love,
A beat of remorse,
A melody so joyful,
It makes me believe that life,
Is a simple accapella.

A chorus sings,
A lover cries,
A demon screams,
And an angel sighs.

*This was a duet poem with my friend Cherry. She's pretty awesome. My parts are the parts in bold. It might be continued, I don't know. Enjoy.

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