SWORDS AND ROSES

There nestled two villages –

on opposite sides of

a majestic mountain

but never had the twain –

seen each other.

 

There nestled two villages –

idyllic and as pretty as could be

heady with the fragrance of roses but –

Red in one and White in the other.

 

There nestled two villages –

with beauteous women and men

that strutted with chests puffed and swords –

that gleamed and glistened.

 

And then one day, there arose a rumour –

skies darkened and lightning struck

and blood thirsty cries rose  –

in a thunderous and murderous chorus.

 

“How can Roses be Red?”

“How can Roses be White!”

“How can that possibly be true?”

“Kill those liars! Kill for ’tis definitely untrue!”

 

And so, they disbelieved each other and cried –

 “Sharpen your swords! Get on your horses!”

“Kill those liars! And save your souls!”

“For our truth is the only Truth!”

“For it cannot  –

otherwise be!”

 

And so they clawed and clambered

to the top of the majestic mountain

and fought and fought and fought

and their children and their children –

too fought.

 

And killed and killed and killed

For their truths –

Roses could only be Red!

Roses could only be White!

How could it possibly be otherwise!

 

And they continue to disbelieve each other –

And continue to fight

their bloody and brutal fight

and trample upon Roses both –

Red and White

And now there are Roses –

No more.

 

And now there are children –

no more.

THE MASKED

Men and women in masks
Marionettes that dance
Fake smiles in bright lights
Brittle and brazen in fights
With holes in their souls
How do they get by
With hideous grasping
Greedy and grabbing
Stripping the world bare
With an ugly stare
Beautiful carcasses
Designed to deceive
In shadows they live
Without masks
They cannot breathe
Such is the world
A stage –
of masked
Strangers.