A taint of red rose
illuminates
the glass menagerie
of broken mirrors—
of oaths, promises, hearts—
all strewn with ferocious beasts and fangs.
The wounded birds of our eyes
bleed into paint,
into poetry,
Into trembling notes of music—
into the bloodbath of poppy fields
beneath the wisdom of stars.
in the true flag.
A taint of pain
illuminates
the glass menagerie
of broken mirrors—
of an injured world.
