Flander's Field for a Junkie

In Flander's field, the poppies bloom
The red petaled weeping cups of doom
Beneath the crosses, no one knew
The addicts the poppy forever slew

An off-white seeping across the land
A morphine sap, from God's own hand
A desolate field of dead decay
Dead grass, and seed sown in disarrey

And frost, came winter into the grove
And chilled the poppies to the bone
A new seed was sown, in a lone alcove
And cracked the soil amidst gravestones

A flower blossomed, with the rain
And fertilized with cries of pain
Every addict who lost his life
Cried from beyond the tomb, in chains

The chains were broken , with the new seed
The flower of recovery
And every poppy was strangled out
And died amidst the hope that did breed

In flanders field, hope did grow
Amidst the crosses, row by row
Beneath the gravestones, no one knew
The addicts that the poppies slew...

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Beatnik1979's picture


thats a good poem man.

It shares a story that is both a tradegy And somewhat supernatural.

i dig it.