Where the flowers were burned
A smell still remains
Of bittersweet smoke
And pure blissful pains
The thorns are all ashes
The petals are, too
You need one for the other
I guess that it’s true
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
Where the flowers were burned
A smell still remains
Of bittersweet smoke
And pure blissful pains
The thorns are all ashes
The petals are, too
You need one for the other
I guess that it’s true