A seed of love

[euthanasia]

Flowers, flowers in my garden
They are usually red
But i see them black today
Could it had anything to do
With you being around here

A flower borns in spring
To die by the swift sword of cold winter
Why do we assume a flower will love spring
Dont we love to be hurt
See I know I can count with spring
I can always relay on her warm touch
It is winter what i love
It is my wish to see what is behind the cold
It is the fascination with mortality
Here I am, embracing the coldage
Turning my back over warm reborn
I am stuck between two loves
And i can not love none.

[GregoryWohlwend]

It is winter what i love
It is my wish to see what is behind the cold
It is the fascination with mortality
Here I am, embracing the coldage
Turning my back over warm reborn
I am stuck between two loves
And i can not love none.

this part of the poem is my favorite, i like how you break down the emotion with three statements than describe your dissposition afterward.. the last two lines are perfect endings as well...


i like how you freewrite your poems(maybe you don't just got that feeling), i usually do that but not on the message board itself, i just open up a word doc. and write it when it comes to me, either there or on my notepad... your poems are straight from your feelings which is good, however perhaps thinking after the initial feelings about how you could express it in a more complex/universal way... however it would be just what i desire, what you desire matters much more for i know nothing of your experiences or the way you wish to portray them...

[euthanasia]

Danke
Pretty much everything I have ever posted here is just things that pop out of my mind to take form while I write.
As for this song, poem or whatever will ever become, I was hanging around one day, and I came up with the first three lines:
Flowers, flowers in my garden
They are usually red
But i see them black today

After a few days, the computer was on, so I wrote down those three lines and tried to follow up with them. What followed was that. We are all misterys to ourselves. Perhaps what came was something from very deep inside, or some forgotten dream.

That is what it is all about. The words just comes to you, it is one´s choice to ingore them or to use them.

will check your poems