The Flower Bed of Illness
In the flower bed of illness,
My drowsy midnight disease blooms.
Plucking petals of happiness,
My poisonous pollen consumes.
The venom stemming from my soul,
Pollution rooted in my mind,
Leaves me far lesser to control
The garden of mine I've designed.
The sick spores of my sleepy head
Spread, fertilized in dirty soil
Made of decomposed ink and lead
That preserve sorrows as they spoil.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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