A Battle Field Ballad

The back hands of book ends like statues of plant stems
The attic with the rocking chair
The flock of dust to the clothes you used to wear

Give me a basement grown weed to weird your readings
Let me hear your battle cry tonight
Let me recall the memory of War in our 3 story house

The past trends of Bridget's and Clyde's cabarets
secrets out the closets
storms out the greys
a showering of out black truths
the white petals of peace grew
the battle had crew
of one on one in hot blooded skin as if been in the sun inside out
and one day come as a shine
a kill to the seed
a flight to the stairs
to an attic that was never there:

a room laid bare
no field of shields
no armour
just two people
arm in arm in a doorway to adore

crying karma

letting the tending dismiss clouds of dull
skulls of soil to soil in a ceremony

lay down your weapons and love
let the curtains hear your battle cry
as they close to private your room of emotion