An unforeseen winter,
making hearts cold.
It doesn’t need snow,
a place where flowers should grow,
but they could never break through.
Everyone wishes to be the Rose
that had grown from the concrete,
if only we could be the ones to rise.
We stay trapped.
Some use Jane to kill the pain,
bottles to drown sorrow.
Everyone seems so shallow.
Everything is so hollow.
I hope to rise and mourn the dead,
to do it for those who could not.
I wish peace to all those who have been,
for we reside in The Concrete Garden.