Bleak, but Strangely Appropriate

Blackened Rose

A rose, once red, now blackened, charred,
Only half alive, too delicate to touch
Still embedded in the earth

Pied Piper Bombers target beauty
They fall, they call, they turn, they burn
They are unworthy of my concern

I wonder what the flowers felt
As the bombardment began
My arms spread out

A plane swoops down
The pilot eyes me - a withering look
Why waste your worries on insentient beings?

If I pick them I will kill them
If I leave them I will kill them
So I pluck that solitary rose

And look up at the sky, it is blue
It is bright, it is clear and for now
The bombardment has ceased

I look down at the blackened flower
In my hand and then make a fist
It is mine to kill and so I crush it.