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We live, grow, blossom.
Seasonal, perennial
natures beauty flowering.
Great is our glory.
The majestic fact of living:-
Denied our kind.
Mankind trammels the earth we grow in.
Trampling us underfoot
and the final stroke,
plucks us from our home.
Plumped into a vase
put on display to grace
their dead room. Why?
Why can you not believe
we scream, albeit silently.
We live, we grow.
We bestow beauty whilst
screaming in pain unto death.
"Only a flower" mankind says.
Yet he needs our form and beauty
to grace his dead living room.
Grant us the right
to feel, to scream,
to be... Alive
Vote for this poem
SCREAM OF A FLOWER
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