An Ode to Violence

A wildflower left within the wind
Droops slowly to the ground. His weighty head
Was born and died forever to be pinned

To the descending motion, falling dead
To be reborn, like Bacchus from his grave,
While honeyed milk dripping as blood is bled

From stem and soul alike. The wind, it raves
Insatiated, and will not restrain
Itself, and to brutality enslaved --

So Violence, be not unborn again,
A wildflower droops, in peaceful glens,
In places unsuspect, where best of pens
Can little do to capture horror in
The hearts of those that droop within the wind.

Topic: Violence
Date: July 21