Acquiesce
At the incline
Of the mountain,
Wild roses bloom
Dark red
Like the puddle
Of blood
At a murder scene.
I slowly walk alone
The hillside of isolation
Like an Easter Parade
Depleted of joy
And reduced to a funereal dirge.
I don’t think,
She will ever understand
How badly I was hurt
When she refused to acquiesce
To give me her hand.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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