Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Flower of Blood

Upon the grassy meadow I lay,

Amidst the flowers of sunny May.

I see a yellow daffodil,

Hear the birds of yonder hill.

My knees shattered,

Hands bitter cold,

The bullet in my stomach,

Fierce and bold.

Fixed stare at the West,

Watching the yellow sun rest.

Sweet smell of the valley,

Brings memories of my dear Sally.

Screech of the machines,

Twitching my ears.

Enemy of ten-thousand flames,

Torture and sear.

Back in the fields again,

Harvest, family, nature and friends.

About the tractor the children dance,

Farm dog in his sleepy trance.

The dark Sheppard arrives,

With his lean staff.

Cry of the devil,

Chills the night.

Twisted sinews,

Chips of bone.

With the daffodil now red,

The forsaken freed in death.

(In memory of all those deceased in conflict)

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