Buried
Apple of my brain is buried
in the depths of a Rose Garden
Secrets of my inner soul are
buried beneath the ground I stand on.
My heart that beats pain is in an
oasis of it's own.
The river that flows down my begotten
face, turns into ashes with each drop
that falls
My eyes are black as coal,
For no more pain can I see
For no more pain can I inflict.
Copyright © Debbie Walker | Year Posted 2023
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