Rhythmic and Metric

In Remembrance

Subtle streams of poppy petals settle at my feet,
the fallen frieze of summerโ€™s lease, its transience complete,
discarded leaves like memories of unrepentant grief
cavort upon the autumn breeze decayed by time, the thief.

Remembrance of a bitter season thrown upon the world,
when blood and bone would fertilize as fiefdomโ€™s flags unfurled,
entrenched in mud, the good intentions blown apart by fear,
if only Spring might rear its head and Winter disappear.

A million marches made of feet that fall in hammered doom,
a battlefield of bodies rotting doesnโ€™t leave much room
for poetry and positive contractions of the mind
when ears canโ€™t hear and eyes canโ€™t see as chlorine burns them blind.

A petal picked and pressed inside the pages of a book
impresses prints of past endeavours, how the heavens shook,
forget-me-notโ€™s and poppies placed in regimented ranks
remind me what our honour cost and why I owe my thanks.

Image by Malachi Witt from Pixabay

Categories: Rhythmic and Metric

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