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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
© Johnmichael Simon
2012
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