On Blood and Poppies

Sages claim the pen is mightier than the sword

and it’s hard not to be cynical at these words

here in our tribal corners where clash and pain

reverberate and slash, reverberate again

 

Look not to red ink spilling on the ground

the poet begs, but to the Spring where poppies may be found

where love and harmony combine in pleasant sound

—but still the cannon’s echoes us confound

 

And yet, perhaps, there still exists in all

some primal place where we can heed this call

and in the night when darkness covers land

we grope towards each others’ outstretched hand

 

And in these grasping fingers find a petal

the outline of a poppy etched into metal

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© Johnmichael Simon

2012

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