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Not Every Floret Is A Rose

To tell you the truth my humble folks

No one ever sang melodies nor I evoke

sighs of love, nor were woven any aching

hymns, no blind poet was ever penning,

 

ballads of mine love, while young lovers

were busy making love under thick covers

I was simply trying to stand my ground

Only trying to nurse some old wound

 

I did have few dry kisses to my share

Enough to call them some sort of affair

To keep the sluggish heart-beating,

And the crimson thin blood gushing

 

For I knew that true love is a luxury

A privilege reserved for not the many

I had vowed my entire life to a service

And all I ever did was the same service

 

Knowing that not every floret is a rose

Some of us are condemned only to compose

Verses of love in the long endless nights

While thinking of kisses in our imaginary flights

 

 

 

 

 

 

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27 thoughts

  1. I laugh coz when we write verses we exaggerate emotions and pain but reality always is not this bad. Sitting on beautiful couch and drinking flavored tea just when husband took out for a dinner, only flowers were missing in dinner. 🤭🤭and I had to write it.

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