and as christ himself died for our life and sins
through his passion healed those who needed it
there came a day when valentine was struck with the fateful end
one so profoundly familiar and viscerally heartbreaking-
to die for the sake of love

i saw outside the church the smoking basket where they laid upon the palm fronds
and around it the people selling their freshly cut roses and softly sewn hearts
there came a day where repentance was lectured onto a crowd of said sinners
who ends their busy day upon the name of love

and i must admit i saw but later the ashes upon their heads
for never in a day do i see more flowers held and carried by us common men
the day was for the living and loving alive
and nothing as beloved as our devotion to our happy sacrifice-
we gave to it the petals of passion, and the name of a murdered saint

i wondered as the day went
did we always give so much for our love
for in a moment i could not comprehend
the lengths we've went to keep love as vibrant red as a new day's sunset
as though we've dipped the petals on a river of blood

the palm fronds, they said, meant peace and victory
and the roses, the passion and devotion
i wondered then what the ashes meant
as if to say
from the dust we came, and so shall we return
so will our peace and love
so will the victorious
and beloved

and i wondered then how many roses have been cast out into the burning basket
how many bushes and orchards and flowering plains and symbol makers
died unlovingly for the world
how many valentines will die regardless of how sacred we make of them
how many valentines we'll spend upon the ashes of our love

if love meant the sort of pain
meant for the godly and reveared
how we've let so many turn to dust
unwillingly scarred onto their faces

i sure do hope the next valentine has as much roses and flowers
and i sure hope the fires matter less
or if they're none at all
so be it that the question of love stays hard and grim
but not our days alive
none of sin
and none of ash