Of Wildflowers and Shrapnel
Blue and greens, yellows and pinks,
The whole field was covered with them,
Short or tall, round or oval,
The wild flowers blanketed the ground,
As the sun rose, they slowly lifted their sleepy heads,
Glistening in their early morning dew, drinking in the light,
Crushed under tank treads and jack boots.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel,
The sky is set ablaze by the slowly rising sun,
The brilliance of the light and magnificence of the sight,
Outlines a flight of blackbirds flying in formation,
So gracefully gliding off into the firey distance,
Their noble black heads and orange beaks lifted high in the air,
Thrown into a scattered, squaking confusion by the roar of approaching planes.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel,
A mighty oak stands tall in the forest,
Towering high above all others,
Its branches and leaves cast shadows down to the forest floor,
Its silent, unmoving form an awe-inspiring sight,
Perched high in the branches, baby birds chirp for their mother,
Squirells scurry up its sides in search of food,
Sagacious in its nature and omniscient in its stance,
Mowed down by maching guns and crushed under tank treads.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel,
A huge concrete and steel monstrosity sits in the middle of the field,
This is highly contested ground,
Men run this way and that, firing blindly at unseen attackers,
The flowers are trampled, the birds have all disappeared,
The mightiest trees in the forest are shattered by explosions and felled by machine guns,
The dewey green grass is slowly painted red with the lives of young men,
The acrid scent of gunpowder and artillery shells permeates the air,
Coupled with the coppry stench of blood and the screams of the dying,
The whole scene is that of chaos, destruction, and hatred.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel,
The field is filled with them now,
Some tall, some short, some black, some white,
Unseeing eyes stare at the setting sun,
The bodies lay strewn across the field,
Limbs twisted this way and that,
Mouths open in screams no longer heard.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel,
THe bodies are now in vcarious stages of decompostition,
Burnt out hulls of tanks and shells of vehicles are everywhere,
The fort now lies in ruin, broken and shattered,
Pieces of concrete litter the area, twisted steel accents the mess,
Covered by flowers and grass.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel.
Of shrapnel and wild flowers.
Of nature and beauty.
Of man and death.
Of wild flowers and shrapnel.
