Blousy Red

Eyes pick me up as a flower. Beautiful, harmless, benign.
My blousy red centred on a centre of midnight black.
Green racing up to kiss the red lips of my petals.
You'd be right. But ultimately you're wrong. I'm much more.

That red trembling in the breeze, striking against the sky blue,
Dyed red from blood that seeped and oozed through trampled mud.
Creeping up innocent roots and poisoning the delicate flora.
Passed on in generations to forewarn, forebode and remember.

A black vortex holding a swirling scarlet galaxy, twisting forever.
The deepest recesses of humanity - the black of the enemy's eyes.
A moonless night, devoid of the tiniest glimmer, blanketing the
carnage below. Darkness hides even the reddest of spills.

But look at the green shooting up, forever striving toward the red fire.
Eternity spent running into an inferno, quenching the hottest of hells flame.
Tender sprouting hope, tentative steps along the tightrope. Peace.
The potential, the energy to drown the fire. But the scorch marks remain.

Red as spilt blood.
Still, the eyes see a poppy.
Millions held in the trembling blush of petals.

Fluttering under the deafening silence.