Alive like the breath between two arguments of woe
So the wind comes, and tosses the love and beauty
Of unsuspecting poppies, unbelieving heads dancing
Unbelieving in towers of pollen flow, in their dancing light
Poppies! Who friendly wink at the away within winds.
But darkly the voices moan.
Now bees drone mournfully for them before the moon arrives forever
But man’s words should be few and given with caution
For if flown between this span of convincing dream
The observance of mist rolling down the hills, the origins
In honey, poppy, wind: They should then be believers by now
But the fire shot formation of bullets from eye to eye
Wrath, unreason and every hated atrocity
Collides the minds of petal and running sun
Voices whisper of the foundation-stone in creation.
Poppy, wind, word and light
A power spans the cruelties done under the sun and in the night
The ambulance and the insomniac, the suffering and the saved
Borne again over mountains where clean truth water paves
Hear in every street: the ache of roaring dragon power in the sea beyond
Voices that are beyond reach, for the beast waits
At the foot of the iron door
and behind the stone robes
Voices. Tell us! When will these things be…
What will the voices become?
The heat of a consuming fire
The blatancy of bloodied teeth
The righteousness behind unspoken power
Continuing and binding a guided might.
- J. S.
