, , , , , , , , , ,

Barbed and brittle, branches reach

Clawing their way, from the ground

Forgotten, against a wall of stone

No flowers will bloom, no life around

He left them to die, for no reason at all

The only feeling for him, now, is scorn

This human one, who cares not for them

For him, they have blossomed in thorns


August Writing Prompt – barbed brickles – Day 9/31

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