Lilly Rose Poems

Shapes of the Past.
Numbers of the Present
Variables of the Future.
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Stars are glistering, fluttering,
but I am still up,
waiting for time to stop.
Stories are sinking and twirling,
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The ones in rooms of grand seats,
wait for a day to stop and retreats,
their voices are murmurs that flee,
when they see those who are free.
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Lost in a storm,
Left behind for the wolves,
Missing a loyal home,
its warmth and comfort.
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The color of war,
with women and men
crying in the streets,
near their doors,
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A painting without blue or green,
misses home, yet is too proud to tell,
wanting to leave all signs of a childhood behind
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Petals of friendship,
Thorns of kinship.

A rose without petals
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“Just something”

A wild path of a kite,
the rush of a waterfall,
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Bruises under the fading yellow light,
becoming a frightful sight,
a boy lingers under that window shade,
convincing me that he was afraid.
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We are all built of bubbles,
fracturing at the slightest touch,
seeking escape from our troubles,
wishing for something real to clutch.
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