A Collection of Thoughts

Lest We Forget

The red flower falls from her shirt

where it stood proud,

pinned to the materials she takes for granted.

It floats to the ground,

carried by the breeze,

which ultimately lands it on the blood stained dirt,

the girl completely oblivious to its absence.

The part of Earth holding the poppy demands to be heard,

the gunshots,

the pain,

the screams,

the tears,

all embedded in the soil,

sprouting weeds of trauma

that soldiers carry home to their loved ones,

offering them instead of flowers

because that's all they can afford

from within their minds.

The flowers,

that once blossomed before the war,

now lay flat,

trampled and intertwined with their thoughts

by the tanks that ran them over,

leaving nothing but tread marks

to help them explain why they aren't the person they were before.

Lest we forget.

~11/11/14