Poppies...
Fields of red.
Memories of unrelenting dread.
Poppies...
Pillows of consequence, of loss
of love.
A memoir to our mistakes.
And fury.
Poppies...
Fields I tread.
Resting place of the dead.
Blood of a thousand stain their leaves,
little embodiments of death -
little life thieves.
Live off the deceased,
beautiful scavengers -
some drink their juices, liquid energy.
Liquid Poison.
Poppies,
pure poison in its rawest form,
***** field of heaven
conflict field of the past,
present
and future.
Stick it in a needle,
give it a shot -
but remember, these plants
grow on bodies that still rot.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Poppies...
Fields of red.
Memories of unrelenting dread.
Poppies...
Pillows of consequence, of loss
of love.
A memoir to our mistakes.
And fury.
Poppies...
Fields I tread.
Resting place of the dead.
Blood of a thousand stain their leaves,
little embodiments of death -
little life thieves.
Live off the deceased,
beautiful scavengers -
some drink their juices, liquid energy.
Liquid Poison.
Poppies,
pure poison in its rawest form,
***** field of heaven
conflict field of the past,
present
and future.
Stick it in a needle,
give it a shot -
but remember, these plants
grow on bodies that still rot.
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