Mia Persson


Buds In Winter


A lifeless void to the night yet to come
My heart, a rose
Who's fate is to be picked and die in your palm
But should you ever leave it grow
Alone in the darkness
By dawn, the light will have washed away the blood red petals
And I'll have meant nothing.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, February 14, 2012

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  • Freshman - 1,920 Points Hans Vr (5/18/2012 7:41:00 AM)

    We are all meant to be picked, Mia.
    Our beauty has to be noticed.
    Even if a single person enjoys our (inner or outer) beauty
    our life will have made a difference to this world
    that may last for an eternity.
    This poem is a very nice and very poetic expression of this giant truth.
    ('Little purple flower' on my page expresses something related) (Report) Reply

  • Rookie - 384 Points Sara Fielder (2/17/2012 5:56:00 PM)

    Somehow blood and roses always seem to fit together metaphorically. Another great poem Mia. (Report) Reply

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