THE BUSHA Poem by EMMIEThis poem means whatever you think it means. There's no wrong, there's no wright. The beauty of poetry is in it's simple mystery.
Persecuted by their own kind
Black berries Used to thrive together into one bush But then some of them became rotten Made so sour by the absence of good care Made so bitter by those bugs Sucking up the sweetness And injecting poison instead The darker the berry the bitter the juice Oh, those rotten berries! Running all the good berries away Forcing them to flee their bush To grow on grounds foreign and unfamiliar to them Many good berries never even make it out the bush They just fall and lay in darkness Until they are no more Poor sweet black berries Being rotten by the bitters Persecuted by their own kind © 2014 EMMIEReviews
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12 Reviews Added on October 7, 2013 Last Updated on November 23, 2014 Author
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