Roses are red, violets covered in tears of dew,
Tricks and traps of voodoo.
My roses have wilted, the violets are dead,
Palms stained with a dastardly red.
I've become colder.
The bright fire left to die, to disappear as it becomes older.
A void of sensitivity for evermore.
Heart of a tiger, she wished to roar,
‘If that is what is to become of me.
Let me hope it happens silently,
To the final chapter, I have to face the facts,
My last words shall echo when my expression is one of wax
I bet they never expected, I bet they never knew,
I am still in love with you…’
by Leah Ruston (14)
The William Allitt School, Swadlincote
Competition - The Poetry Trials
Copyright remains with the author.