Rose Madder: Poetry

Rose Madder,
in her rocking chair,
finding no solace
in their solitary life

For the world takes the
innocence of children,
shows them tortured
ways of progress

Somewhere a furnace
burns with the dust of
fairies who fell dead
from hearing little ones
sobbing sorrows
no soul should know

Secrets exist in homes
with closed shutters
and blackened hearts,
where childhood ends in
a moment instead of
a rite of passage

Rose Madder,
so she sits there
in her rocking chair,
crying tears of red
for all the children
who cannot cry
for themselves.

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