flowernation

A community where flowers experience emotions like us, where flowers learn like us, where flowers unite with us.

Where seeds are sowed,
and sins are reaped,
under the drizzled rainclouds
we pray for and seek.

No one answers our selfish prayers,

but gives us a blinding light;
which burn passionately as our soul ignites.

 

Convolvulus!

the strength of our bond.

Possesses of stems that intertwine

with memories which remain fond.

Leeches on happiness,

and purity too;

as we see its colours in a new light

it lingers within us,

giving us a fright.

 

Over there grows

the mystic Lavenders!

An aura so strong,

my heart starts to loathe.

The people of the town

who spurn and mistrust,

filled with loneliness and sadness

their souls start to rust.

 

Last but not least,

a brave Thistle!

Its purple so bold,

its spikes so cold.

As it screams misanthropy,

a hatred for everything

from the warm sun which provides food,

to the lustful rain,

which lets the Thistle grow crude.

Impure! impure!

As it remains,

with a cold heart

its head hung in shame.

 

In the flowernation,

where we all communicate

is a mixture of emotions,

which we cannot understate.

Us, the voice of a sorrowful generation.

Left to pick up shards

created by our ancestors.

our will now burnt,

like coal.

We roam the sky,

searching for soul.

Have mercy on us, skies.