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Jasmin

Such a beautiful flower held captive in a field of revenants,
Hidden by a see of shame.
Deep, blood red lips, and eyes a forest brown,
Does this flower have a name?
Peddles tattered yet so soft and silky,
Words a whisper in the wind.
So consumed in emptiness,
Happy memories lost or trimmed.
All light in view is soaked in black,
And long brown hair veils the sky.
Whose thorns of pain cause to seep,
Any mortals hidden lie.
Just a weed to a field, no where to go,
With roots imprisoned in brown.
All you see is the beauty,
And not the lies in front of her frown.
Such a piece of art,
A song sung with the trees.
Withering slowly, fading in the dark,
And no one to hear her pleas.
No one is there to make it rain,
To help her sprout from sorrow.
And all that’s left to think about
Is if she’ll live tomorrow.
Vines wishing and bursting with hope.
But being cut back with razors of rage.
Stuck in shock, w/ no real hope,
Loneliness is her cage.
Why she is here,
No one knows
Tears drip from her cheek,
Like rain on a rose.
She is a foreign beauty
In this field, In this place.
But forever she lies,
To wither, to waist.