The flowers in the garden withered
In the places that are dark, dank and cold
The flowers that had so much potential
Died young and never got to grow old
Like the thoughts and the innocence within us
Like somehow we feel ourselves unjust
As if somehow we’re not good enough
That’s similar to our hopes and dreams
The flowers wilt before showing their colours
Just like both you as well as me
If we give up on our dreams
And then on we cannot hope to see a day
That we love and grow in because its sunny.
Beautifully articulated. We do wilt when when we don’t allow ourselves to fully bloom. Love the use of metaphor in this one.
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Thank you very much my friend for reading and appreciating. Faux
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