A swarm of rose petals falls from his hand.
Petals of three colors- red, purple, white –
fall from the hole that he can't understand,
from the part of his hand that's palm heart white:
This would be a release, an outpouring
of pure emotion from this nasty wound
that would cleanse the grounds on which he's soaring;
petals upon the ground would make no sound:
But he's allergic! Allergic to hate!
And since hate forged the hole in his palm's heart,
his petals are poisoned with the pollen's fate-
to infect the lungs and choke up his heart:
As we act like we don't hear him coughing,
the bee who stung him does die from laughing!
urbansonnets 