Roses are Red

A field of white roses
Pure and light
A pretty state of innocence
It’s skin soft, stems smooth
Feeding from the clean stream

The ground vibrates
A shadow strides through looking down at nothing
The unwelcome gardener
Trampling the field with smoke and ash
Roses double over
Drowning in the sea

Of thousands who march with no clear direction
Shooting fire at one another
Until they’re forced down into the grape tub
And stomped into red wine

The coffins bleed out
Infecting the stream with cold crimson
Freezing the fields over in stillness
The unrecognizable roses lay abandoned

Its white tears blanket the ground
Feeding its roots
The roses take their first breath
Crying from the violent escape from the red womb

Shedding its thin shell
Skin hardened, stems sprout thorns
Defensive and angry
A gorgeous state of pain

As they drink happily from the thick red river
The roses rise in numbers larger than before
Blooming again buds of red
Breaking forth like a violent dawn