My Roses Don’t Whisper
My roses don't whisper, they don't keep it down
They show off their colors, they cherish their crown
They seep with ambition, the garden will flourish
They revel in praise to which they are most whorish
They sing out vain chorus, they sing with no doubt
My roses don't whisper, they prefer to shout
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Challenge
Prose Challenge of the Week #42: Write about committing murder. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge
Lament
It brings me great pain to see it this way
Alone in the breeze, alone does it sway
The workings of rope, much cleaner than slaughter
High up in the tree, no sign of red water
So blindly fools listen, the truth cries in silence
A doing of sin, not mere act of defiance
A sight so horrendous, so vile, so knotty
It brings me great pain to look at my body
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