Beneath the Flood

Our hearts did meet,
Our lips did keep,
The secrets by the street,
The flowers ten feet deep.
The water took it all,
The clouds took a fall,
And the flowers in the deep,
Lay out on the hall.
The grass became blue,
The sky turned a different hue,
Red, in the day,
While under the stars you lay.
Your face became cold,
Of a heart so bold,
With lies to hold,
Polluting all the gold.
And the horses they did run,
Ridden by your son,
Who was nonexistent and fun,
Whom you called the son a gun.
So the woman you burned,
At the stake, to you turned,
She pleaded and you heard,
Her song of yellow bird.
But you kept her up tight,
Bounded and blinded by the light,
Something that to you was right,
The one thing she tried to fight.
But you threw flowers at her face,
Red and withered were your taste,
Bringing down her golden grace,
With the most of haste.
The flowers she did swallow,
And in your misery she did wallow,
So her body you left hollow,
And her brown hair lost its glow.
So you held a reflection,
Up towards her lost perfection,
Crippled red flowers were her detection,
Of your newly made correction.
At the burning stake you left,
The victim of your theft,
And the waters did fall deaf,
On ears in a body of crimson death.
Now ten feet under,
You sit and ponder,
Why no yellow roses grow,
You know why, and still say although.
In that spot the rain always comes,
A spot of burst red lungs,
Where red roses prickled songs,
Of yellow birds now long gone.
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