little blue flowers

go on sweetly

-not with a bang
you won't go pistols blazing
a bullet between your teeth
the blood of your brothers
pooled around you
even more of your enemy's
dripping waterfalls from your fingers.
though the costume of war
looks good on you.

-not with glory
untamed piles of gold climbing
a thousand soldiers ready to
lay down their lives
pretty long-legged girls clawing
at each other to reach your throne
each has a coronet in her hand
and a title and a maidenhead
you wouldn't mind taking
but their skin is a hot skillet
under your hands
burning like spitting oil
lust scalds its conquerors.
though the national recognition
suits you.

-not with legend
you won't go honorably
scribes years to come won't write
about your work and devoted time
and what you left behind for us
you'll be a footnote at best
a supporting role
in the grand lives of others
your personality peeking out from
the edges of paintings and murals
your influence never did make the news
but it was there
kind and grasping gently
for attention
like the first few drops of
gray sunlight.

you'll go softly
that's the best i can offer you
pass by the deaths of martyrs and nobodies, kings and peasants, divine figures and ourselves
writers and poets and architects and artists and witches and boys and soldiers and philosophers and beings with more gumption than you.
you don't want what they have.
you've always wanted your own.
no one will hang your portrait but your son will pass down those witty eyes and that burgundy coat of yours.
can that be enough?

now pass by
and go on sweetly.