The End of the Red Poppies

In the sphere of my heart, one can see

Through its crystal walls,

A red poppy field.

The summer light mingles with grass blades

The tree shadows offer shelter.

The dancing photons mischievously warm

The gleeful ecosystem,

The fragile equilibrium.

In its core, there is a pit

That has the power to destroy it all.

Outside circumstances travel straight to it.

Insufflating dark energy, triggering tremors.

One last blow, more powerful than all,

Awakens the dense kernel, which

Grows, and expands, and burns it all.

The red poppies are engulfed in fire

Their crimson petals wither from the heat

Once the heart is just a ball of flames,

Its crystal boundaries finally shatter.

Lead is poured through the limbs,

Each step becomes an effort.

The silver statue gathers the crystal pieces, and

Dutifully assembles the puzzle.

Vacantly gazing at the dim sphere in her hand,

She reflects on the perpetual essence of scars.

Distracted, she attempts another heavy step,

To realize that vines have grown along her leg.

Out of balance, she crashes on the ground.

Feeling the damp mud on her cheek.

Lead-eating insects find their way to her,

Slowly breaking through the argentine skin,

The internal ashes are honey to their mandibles.

Tired, so tired, the statue feels life devouring her,

Getting in every nook and cranny,

Demanding that she gives it all.

She closes her eyes and surrenders,

Becoming one, at last, with the universe.