Treat the flower in a dead field not as a statement but a marker
It stands in the corpses of fallen comrades as they slowly waste to earth
A gravestone at most, a parasite to all that its roots once knew
It will probably thrive more from their bodies then it did in their company
Dull linen hung over a coffin, a decorative use for a tragedy
Like broken signs, they always point in two different directions
Follow your mind and go off track, follow your heart and risk it breaking
Understanding is key, that is all you can strive for
To know those around you, to connect and touch hearts
Realize how much energy they take and wait
Watch them waste into a morning sun that does not rise
Then soak in what you've experience, be mournful yet strong
A gravestone if you will, turn into a name and a date
Become nothing but a stencil for children
Burnt paper and the past