Who said that the world would end,
When tomorrow brings the heaviest roses?
Who had said that,
Upon the arrival of Spring?
We bleed the morning’s tears,
And taste the flavor of fear,
Drunk upon the saltiness of pain.
Love blooms in the most miserable areas
Where pollution strides around
Upon human legs.
We carry roses like weights upon our shoulders,
And let the petals fall against our toes,
Though we do not scream.
Just another clash of fate
Against the signal of hate,
Where beauty resides as a meal upon a plate,
And destruction holds a grudge against protection
Of everything worth holding onto,
As of late.