She Is the thorn within beauty
Ever silent, static elegance
Her rage burns near by.

The purity of the petals
Waiting in the darkness
To feed, pollen succumbs
those exposed, drawn, enticed
By her fragrance.

She is the picture of beauty
A contradiction of a place
Enveloped in darkness, but
All is not what it seems, for
She is the thorn that will
Bleed you dry.

For all that fall, a new flower
blossoms, and she becomes
Sharper. As she has a rage burning
That must be fed, for the petals will
Fall and the thorn will be no more.

~

I can hear the birds singing,
but I can’t see them
Calling for the sun to rise
from dark branches scraping the sky
Full of life they sound
perched high above the speckled lawn
Clinging to sticks, crooked and bare,
formed of countless years trying
and mistletoe nightmares

Melodies bridge the breeze,
lonely corn fields of narrow rows
and a garden of sleeping blooms...
life waiting to be reborn
to paint the landscape with color
Bringing happiness to the birds
singing anyway on the cusp of new,
the edge of beauty near
as northern horizons wake

Grey skies still cling the heavens
I listen, quietly to this music
as if their harmonies will lift
the loneliness from my heart
Chambered worries of what will come,
pulsating rivers in free flowing vistas
counting minutes until spring arrives
and I whisper a sad good bye
but I will return…I will return

He was just a boy
Yes, just 16 years of age
But he wanted to follow the colors
Just to prove that he was brave
But he was just a man child
A rifle in his hand
Yes the rifle gave him manhood
But the mind was still a childs
In Flanders field he learned the truth
Of the transition to a man not youth
But the mind was left behind
Wounded by a shell by enemy fire
And all around him men did die
His courage was spent and gone
Scared, in pain
His shell shocked scrambled brain
He wandered from the field
In tears, in fear he cried out for his mum
Battered in body, battered in mind
The boy could take no more
Three days later they found him
Hiding in a farm
At rifle point they took him
With biting ropes around his arms
Poperinge was the place the courts martial
Then took place
The boy just stood there silent
Shaking, ashen faced
The fateful words were spoken
All cowards have to die
'Thus before the firing squad
You must say your last goodbye
And so on that fateful morning
In the stable yard
The young boy in tears was tied
To the post by previous bullets scared
They pinned a white card upon his breast
For the firing squad to see
The command to fire was given
And a sixteen year old boy
Met his final destiny

I inhale glass shards cutting
Apart my voice, shredded exhales
Of misunderstood words.

I scream and I spit out white noise,
Noting heard but everything said,
When my lungs collapse that which
Was bled on the shards now expelled

I am so tired of bleeding my words the
Pain they bring forth, my voice is numb,
I have said enough. I have my words
Cut Apart, if you never heard were
You listening from the start.

She was an excited little thing
Always running around you
couldn't miss her. She would
Sneeze and the fire brigade would
come and douse her out she
Was a little fire *******.

She was always full of flare
The ones she shot in to the air,
Children loved her displays,
As they would shoot upon the
Heavens and explode into a
Million stars for moments the
sky was alive with fire.

She lit the heaters of the towns
Folk, to keep them warm in winter.
But she was so alone the last of
The little missus, who's flame
Always burnt brighter.

"Little miss fire hazard" grew majestic
And loved by towns folk and those
Lucky enough too meet her, but she
Passed as all things do, but too this
Day a flame still burns bright never
Does it flicker, it burns bright forever
More as generation down the line, the
Towns folk remember and *miss her.