A child without a mother
Is like a rose planted into air,
Only feeding on its emptiness and despair.
And the early tears from Heaven
Are the only way out of the loneliness and sorrow
As the gloomy days on the horizon
Allow them to drift into a super natural world
Of pretend happiness and fake promises.
Then they grow their roots into the soft
Ground below them until the next group
Of dark clouds find them and take them
Back to their forever lasting dreams.
Children are indeed very much like roses.
Tender and needy with the want
For more early tears from Heaven
To take them away.
I'm just pissed off with all these people that seek spiritual satisfaction by posting their "moving" pieces involving "meaningful" words like 'despair, dark,' and 'cold.'
Early Tears
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