poem #16

the roses we find

such a delicate flower
he held in his hand,
the petals he crushed
as if to take stand.
their fragrance was sweet
and felt like a cry;
so gentle and vulnerable,
the roses we find.

do flowers have spirits,
perhaps even a soul?
nobody has asked this
when cutting them all.
who are we to assume,
as arrogant as we are,
that we alone have feelings
when we destroy and command.

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