Scars
Basking under a dull sunshine, sublime messages recieved of a brutal kind.
Aureate azaleas under azimuth, to find sanctuary and a good place to hide.
Flowers torn up savagely, under the morning sky gray with a pallid awning.
A boy to pay for his "wrongings", since the crescent moon began yawning.
Incoherent babble emanating from a dirty mouth, a pole in fingers calloused.
Roots clung to mounds of ground, from roses perfect to decorate a palace.
The pole shone silver, torture for a boy pursuing his only one true passion,
sounds drifting from the backyard of the villa reminiscent of titans clashing.
A young girl stood defiantly, in hand a leatherbound version of the Book,
pigtails quivering in fear as her father called brother's hobby devil's work.
Gathering up her last strengths, she charged forward swinging the Bible.
She bludgeons Dad with the Book, pages leaking out speaking of disciples.
The father slowly fell to the ground, revealing thorned stems ripping lips,
she laid against her beloved brother, who had been a inseperatable twin.
She wiped the prize-winning roses from his mouth, looking at her father,
wondering if she should be alarmed by pooling blood, but she didn't bother.
"Your roses aren't evil, father's holy views have always been distorted,"
she cried, sirens wailing down the streets, the beatings been reported.
Tears flowed down her cheeks in rivulets, flowing as she heard the cars.
"It's your one hobby, and you love it...wounds heal, but they leave scars."