Dark Flower

 

     I don’t have the heart to tell you my rose,

For I don’t have the strength to admit -

Our lives lived are solemn among strangers,

     My tears flow like hot wax

With every pain killer you take,

All the pills of love,

All pills of hate.

 

     There Is something so delicately wrong

With man, with woman too,

When within their collective they brag

Upon your, upon my, upon ‘our’ misfortune

     And, Drink my dear,

Drink and I will drink too -

Our intelligent gait,

Our spirit, our spirit saddened

By secret rules that dictate.

 

     For these times are not ours,

‘We’ do not belong,

We are orphaned by a parent star

That just cannot afford a right of passage

To peace –  when born within a nursery World

Host to only war.

 

     So here we are,

The fictitious insisting a drunken gaze

That instils a cull; an insight beckoning

Only the hand that holds the gun;

     And it’s

‘Backed’ by a belief the mass proliferate,

Like all those gone before,

Like all - bestowed by the madness

They’ll never comprehend.

 

     Love Love,

Is written true within the crests and furrows

Or our thought and heart,

A heart in unison with so many

Ideas of what could once have been,

     Still they laugh,

Not realizing their future passion

Be beyond the states of grace

We now know as honour within the present,

For they develop beyond our day,

 

     And if we die,

Their death may be forever,

But nor you or I will weep,

For the madness, has been so unforgiving,

And all because,

I am white, and you, are black,

And we are love,

And they, be fake.

 

Michael J Waite 2^nd January 2017.