The flowers

They are cutting down the flowers with a scythe
They are taking love and all who may survive
Months of nurture tainted
Only just acquainted
Who will live and who will fail to thrive?

The flowers have lived, have seeded and have died
Another generation comes behind
Broken is the pattern
Bloody are the phantoms
Unspoken all the centuries of lies.

See the blind  men  preaching, absent eyes
The nomads are required  to cease their rides
The destruction of an era
The many years of terror
The paranoia flourished till love died.

 

There can be no sacrament of lies
Jesus lived, the Trinity has died.
On the cross, he hung,
While the masses sung.
The devil’s handing out six million cries.

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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