Writing Prompt
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VISUAL PROMPT
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Create a story or poem with the theme of 'Dead Roses'.
Writings
Why you I asked myself?
My first love…
The one who knew who I really was.
Why you I asked myself?
Your energy…
The most peaceful intellectual warmth.
Why you I asked myself?
Your words…
Whispers of knowledge, and reassurance.
Why you I asked myself?
Special part of me…
That I had to let go.
I cry and cry because I don’t want the universe to take its time.
I love you, BYE.
By: Gisrek...
for so long I wanted to be worthy of roses
not requested roses
not a large bunch either
just thought of as her
worthy of roses
but why I ask myself
a beautiful sight
yet dangerous to hold
representing love and romance they may
but after a few days
they’re value and beauty has wilted
and they’ve died
their dream. sold...
"Roses are red
violets are blue
and I can't describe how much
I love you" I read to Viviann.
"That's beautiful" she says with tears in her eyes.
I grin and pull her in a close hug. We sway back and fourth until she has to go.
"I'll see you Sunday Zach."
I wave goodbye and wish Sunday would come soon enough.
"Roses are red
violets are blue
and I can't describe how much
I love you."
"Do y...
Her footsteps echo down the dimly lit hallway as she slowly approaches the imposing black door. With each step, her heart beats faster and faster, a sense of apprehension creeping over her. She takes a deep breath and reaches for the doorknob, her hand trembling slightly. It's not the first time she's been here, but the feeling of unease never lessens. She mutters to herself, trying to steady her ...
I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. Those vibrant and beautiful roses you brought home still sit on the counter where you placed them, but their life left them long ago. There’s a bed of dry and broken petals laying around the vase. The smell of the dying plant has become so familiar now, I don’t notice it anymore.
These flowers died with you. Getting rid of them somehow means getting rid o...
a rose budded from its mother
can only morph into so many forms.
at its core,
its root,
a rose is still a rose
its destiny predetermined
and by any other name,
it smells just as sweet.
a rose is a symbol of love
placed gently in a vase on a first date
picked apart and strewn on the floor by the honeymoon.
a rose is an ephemeral beauty
worshipped in its prime
forgotten once it’s wilted.
a rose ...
Dead roses, daisies, lilies. Flowers that were already dead before they became a decoration. Their lives cut short so they can commemorate the end of another’s life. Wreaths of flowers with banners propped up on easels depicting that someone was “beloved”, that they will “never be forgotten” and to “rest in peace”.
That’s what’s left after the coffin is lowered into the ground. Your name chiseled...
the flower of a yucca I came upon today
it’s fertile period over the patina of decay
As I ventured closer I noticed wilt and brown
wearing her age bolder worthy of the crown
a kinship with her greening now left behind
she had known a season as I now too decline
her body now has weathered her sheen worn away
still she shows her essence now near the path I walk
I leave now looking backward gazing ...
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VISUAL PROMPT
Your protagonists walks on the beach every morning. One day they find this unexplainable surprise. Continue the story...