the dead balloon
roses; now it lays there dead.
the thorn that killed it is still within
the latex that let out the din;
of burst of hopes and happy endings.
i hope these words aid in its mending.
suddenly, i got disturbed;
many things have been confirmed;
second comings tend to wither
faster than the first; much quicker.
Luka.
Great poem. Its sad but the field of roses seems like such a beautiful place at the same time.
That’s spot on. It is both my heaven and hell. It’s a reoccuring place in my poetry, a metaphor, and I even have a balloon tattooed on my hand. It’s all a continuity; a journey of a lifetime; a well-orchastrated love story i live in.