Flowers: A Poem


The days have come,
These harsh hours built upon the strife
That covers the floors, the walls,
Blaring out at us from newspapers
Whose headlines are full of words that children are told not to say.

Hatred is spewing from mouths
Like coughed-up worms,
Demons pouring from throats and hovering in the air
Around our heads and ears,
Not a moment can pass without another vulgarity taking flight.

And the faceless voices scream at us,
At women who walk down the street in high heels,
At men in clean uniforms,
At black-skinned children who will soon be angels.

And these voices cower in their bodies,
Shoving down their own fears,
Their hatred using old faults as a ladder to climb to the lips
And get free.

The days have come
When eyes fall out to be replaced by screens
That flash with flawed images,
The damaged girls are painted over with pretty words
And the boys who dare to cry are shoved under beds,
And they grow up in the abominable world
Believing the deafening noises
That taunt from all sides.

And grief is given more often than flowers.
Have we forgotten the flowers?

And still we wonder why the children don’t play outside –
There are enough monsters in their heads.
The doubts grow daily like weeds,
Seeds sown in schools and through TVs,
You are small, you are weak, you are ugly, you are stupid, you are wrong.

You are nothing.

And in the haze of smoke and lost hope
There are not enough good words to break through,
Not enough voices raised to say sorry.
We are failing more with each day
And the trees are cut down to make newspapers to print hate,
And the flowers are dying.

And my throat is dry from disuse, maybe yours is, too.
But I’ll go out and find fading roses to fill up a glass
And I’ll say sorry, and tell you
That you are big, you are strong, you are radiant, you are brilliant, you are right.

Y o u.  A r e.  E v e r y t h i n g.

The women in high heels, dancing in the street,
The men in their uniforms who smile under their hats,
The children, black and white and all, playing freeze tag,
But none are frozen because they all want to un-freeze.
They are everything.

And you are everything.
You are life and you are loved.

And there are still enough flowers to make crowns.



©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Flowers: A Poem

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s