Poppies

Poppies

Poppies in glasshouses, stakes,
seeded in the past;
from slumber deep, it rouses, wakes,
needed where it's cast

Petals counted, scattered, red,
crimson, scarlet... fell;
battles mounted, spattered, bled,
the chaos where we dwell

Fields in a present tense,
such rested weary bones;
poppies from we know not whence,
sit shielded from stones

Flora loosed in lockdown's reign,
in battlefields... minds;
borne of isolation, pane,
behind the glass and blinds

whilst paper tributes line the towns,
the streetlights and the cross;
with plastic stems tied, buttoned down,
to mark the collars lost

To honour guards that stood their ground,
despite not being theirs;
praying for a future found,
some grace found for their heirs

Poppies grown from silent seeds,
sown in two minute spans;
nurtured by such violent deeds,
'midst narrowed poisoned plans

Schemes so plain, they hide in sight,
a lost sense of regret;
scenes of pain, that forged such light,
... how easy we forget?

How quick it spins, a prism lagged,
repentence, burnened times;
we carry with us prisons, dragged,
we sentence our own crimes

in sandbanks, time... we bunker, drown,
espoused to rules of class;
whilst veterans... they hunker down
... in houses craft of glass