Four hundred years of sonnets just got out-crafted by the thing they kept putting in them.
surely it is I,
the rose.
Humanity made it to withstanding duty,
to indomitably in word or not,
express my beauty.
Used my leaves to toot the horns,
conveniently,
just forget my thorns.
I'll leave you to your own eternal duress
(if you want hell, it's there for you),
find yourself in your own fucking shell.
Poetry by mickeko
Written on 2026-05-04 at 13:17
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The pRose
If something is a singularity in prose,surely it is I,
the rose.
Humanity made it to withstanding duty,
to indomitably in word or not,
express my beauty.
Used my leaves to toot the horns,
conveniently,
just forget my thorns.
I'll leave you to your own eternal duress
(if you want hell, it's there for you),
find yourself in your own fucking shell.
Poetry by mickeko
Written on 2026-05-04 at 13:17
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
