Poetry

When a Rose Dies


When a rose dies,

People weep

As the colorful petals

Turn brown and brittle

And fall to the ground.

But when a person

Sickens in the trenches,

Withering away

Until nothing is left,

People turn a blind eye,

While they let the victim

Fade into oblivion.

 

When a dove’s

Softened white feathers

Are soaked in blood

People cry.

But when soldiers

Who have been drenched

In a metallic red

For our freedom

Return to the place

They call home,

There is nowhere to go,

A new war to survive,

Abandoned on the streets.

 

When two towers

That used to symbolize

Unwavering strength

Come crashing down,

People bawl.

But when a city

Is blown to vapor,

Hundreds of thousands

Of innocent lives lost,

People cheer because

It ended a war,

Though it made

Countless ghosts.

 

So when what we see

As beautiful treasure

Is taken away,

We weep.

We cry.

We bawl.

But when the perfect

Facade does not exist,

We pay no heed

To its disappearance,

Because in this world

A veneer is more valuable

Than any ugly truth.

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