pushed to the sea

black flower of terror
sprouting from the rubble
how deep are your roots?
how sharp are your thorns?

how brittle the slender stalk-
bound soul around which bombs
are wrapped, with which
bodies become strewn?

what seed bomb bore you
with what fell swoop?
what black spore fell
with such force
as to impregnate
the ground, the gentle mound
of rubble, pregnant with
tomorrow’s midnight bloom?

when I awoke, the thin silver
halo of morning tapped the petal
dew fell like the last tears ever:
where are the people?
where now the advancing army?

pushed to the sea

they touch not now with a wall
but shore: one foamily lapping away
in repentance the charred remains
crying like silent rocks
scorched, barren, brittle

fertile ground for my flower
to scratch her scaly petals
time lapses after the mind
but by then it is too late