Six Flowers - Poem by Michael Robertson
Beneath the arms of the melancholic scarecrow,
It stares at the indifferent trees,
Surrounded by the crows leaving behind nothing
But a trail of fire,
Washing away by the snowfall,
The earth buries the scarecrow in its sickening despondency.
Mental stability maintained through the alteration of the real world,
An endless stream of emptiness and despair,
Suicide in an internal prison,
Crawling into death as the candles burn away.
A world thriving on ignorance,
The corruption and lies pulsing through your veins,
Your blind ignorance,
Your evanescent wisdom,
Your artificial love,
No remorse for the destruction of the innocent.
The windows are cracking,
The light slowly gives away,
Dark room of incessant horror,
I am condemned forever,
Oblivious to the pain.
Howling of the ghosts in the rain,
When all faith is lost,
The corpses are falling,
Ringing of the final bell before it shatters.
Cold cemetery slumber,
The sixth flower is blooming,
Blooming in perpetual sorrow,
Breaking apart in lament,
As my final breath departs from my body,
The six flowers are dying and withering away,
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