lilies lament

roses regret, 

violets confess 

that nature’s violence will never regress.

she made roses of many shades

how little did I know, 

counting petals as if they were my remaining days

as nature sings her song so pure,

filled with love and ever so sure

that she will love and she will grow,

however at fault they will never know

so sing the lie she ought to do, 

that life is green and blue 

and not red or grey

because that’s the truth, make no mistake

she promised a home and a place of love 

but I didn’t know it was a house of blood

the vicious song of the dying deer,

the natural cycle she’d make it appear

to not be the malicious or ill intent

monster that would surely make her babies repent

loving her in the first place or even at all

since after the sight of the moonfall

and the sun comes up, 

we seem to forget the whole of it all.

as nature sings her song of grace

of birth and beauty and seldom distaste,

a song that hides the abhorrent truth

that nature was designed to bury you

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featured image graphic by EMILY STEPHENS