Poppies

Red poppies, corpse eaters - the fields are full of them,
Blood engorged and greedy.
Like starving babies - shrieking 'feed me! Feed me!"
The colour red is a warning,
stark at night and the bloody morning.
But the purple sunset paints the sky like an ugly bruise,

Hints of grays and blues.
If I was an artist I should probably find it beautiful,
But I find that it opens old, cauterized and ugly wounds. 
I have this fixation; obsession, born from engorged head.
Zeus, your head has been split open
for the birth of some wicked human.

It's a myth that I find comforting,
That shields me from all reason
And it is female, No! I’ll bet you never thought
That it would be ugly, or that it would be fat –
Or that it would be poor, or that it would be black.
When only rich men go to heaven,

It’s what a rich man's dreams are made of: heaven,
The golden house, great wooden doors,
Velvet curtains, thrown back then drawn,
When the stille nacht comes creeping in…
The coldest dawn is in this hell where all is quiet,
All men have tongues, but all men are silent.

Of course, I’ll be the only one to speak, to use my mouth
To talk and eat... like a starved pig that's
Finally been let at the trough, as humans will
Fight their wars of words and blood, because.
Some lover, I believe. I do not know, I should expect it
to be the other way round –

That heaven's warm and hell is freezing.
Now daddy, see what you have given me!
Some guilt complex as old as you are.
I have always loved my enemy. It's stale, the war -
It's bits of blood And DNA. It consists of nothing more,
And nothing less - It’s in my eyes, my brain,

My arms, elbows, knees, my heart, and legs.
Hark! The demonic little children bellowing for more!
More! More!  Can't you hear them, Mother, can't you?
Mother, may I kill them all?
They line the streets, and the streets are burning,
You laughed with glee and simply shrieked –

"The revolutionaries in their graves!
I feel them turning!" The surgeon,
The greater father - Had my hand, the better hand of you,
My rival, with your Hip flask and your traitor's bible  - to the trenches!
You’re through the door! And then I know old men are
Still afraid of crimes they have never been asked to pay for.

I was speaking, when time was as big
As the new day that loomed. Is it glory or does it grate?
Deconstruct what your land’s surgeons have created...
Dr, hey daddy, what delights you more?
The thrill of calling all women whores?
No, not a moral, just a moment in time, your eyes trading eyes –

Leaves all you sanctimonious shits blind.
Oh how you laughed! And how you sang!
Tones of mourning throughout Europe –
Norway, Sweden, Austria, Poland and Vichy France...
There is a bell ringing in the street below my window
The speaker bellows words I cannot, I am loath to understand

There has been death! So much death!
Delivered by such steady hands. The month of June,
Merry prostitute, declaring war, you very war you fought before,
And I bet you thought there'd never be another.
"The cultured? What use is culture to us now?
They’ve rolled out tanks, and planes, to knock us out –

The blow, you bitch! How do you sleep?
Or does God forgive - yourself and useless pacifists?"
This land is my bed, the bed I was born in,
I was beneath it as the heavens shed their
First blood of the morning
My blood is nothing, except the moon of existence

The lungs, how the breathe! To spite the sun's cruel persistence,
But now i see not! Nor do I be anymore
And I cannot love or believe anymore…
But I remember you breathing a long, long time before -
Before The fire burned bright then went out.
Before the night was over and you left without making a sound,

Before you were considered missing, and then were found...
Before they ever told me as I stood on the icy nighttime roads,
Leading by the lamplight, a thousand ghosts back home,
Before that blood pump in my chest tore open and spilt its contents
Before colossus man ever allowed itself to torment....
Yes, before the tears rolled out to the year’s revealing its bloodshed,

Before the birds shrieked out their requiems to the departing sunset.