The Flower Of Burdens
From panging heart and blood-stained palms Came thirst for anger, brutal qualms, And when the fatal ranks advanced, The sky was filled with dark war bombs.
God’s streams, once blue, ran red with pride, Serving as a token for those who died. Those men consumed in breathless air, Above from where their corpses lied.
Mortars and bombshells in their way, Sha’n’t deceive them through the bloody day, So through bleak hours and wistful smoke, Our flag still reigns above the bay.
These men, our saviors, put up a fight, For panging heart and interred rights, So when their names are called once more, We will again see blinding light.
And in the yard of long-lost souls, Their parting cries, impartial goals, Shoot echoes through the barren land Of cement graves and searing coals.
So as I meant to pass right by, My heart was wrenched with ev-ry cry, And as I felt their troubled pasts, I placed a flower with a sigh.
In all its grandeur, the flower stood, A symbol for the greater good, So when the gift shall wilt away, The message will stay, likewise it should.
For panging heart and blood-stained palms, Came thirst for anger, brutal qualms But when the fatal ranks advance, Our victory bell will ring, a psalm.
- Lucas E. Quinn Massachusetts, 2017
Reprinted with permission. Congrats Lucas, you're now a published writer! Photo: Aaron Burden for Unsplash
