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The Poppies Still Bloom

by Audrey M Scott


On one side of the world
the war-torn arid soil
again changes face with
green patch-work, as hand
watered seeds spring to life.

In the harsh countryside
healthy plants push up to
heads that burst into variegated
white to pink-red blooms.
Beautiful they sway in the breeze.
A profit for some peasant’s survival.

On the other side of the world,
another, and another, and another,
overdosed person dies.
The scream of a pretty blonde
tourist girl is heard piercing the quiet
as still clutching
only the strap of her purse,
she is callously flung over the
hand-rail of a bridge to her
fearful death.

The poppies flourish,
their field of heads waving in the wind
until the time to bleed them of sap.
The white of them like bleached
skulls of death, and the pink like
the spilled blood of victims
robbed of their pittance of money,
to supply someone else’s addictions.
The poppies still bloom.

04/14/2002

Posted on 04/13/2002
Copyright © 2022 Audrey M Scott

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