The toil and the beauty, rest in these lines. A poet in the night, quelling my feign voice.
In emerald fields the poppies grow.
By the well in her arms she’ll know you
And love you in this brief armistice.
Arched in their hearts.
Until she’ll hold you down
And let you go.
Your last wish, you spoke.
In the watery channels below,
A furled cocoon existence.
How mournfully slow,
In emerald fields the poppies grow.
I like that song and see the association. But I was actually inspired by the war poem, “In Flanders Fields” https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields
And yes the poppies are associated with armistice day. I’ve also been working on a ceramic piece for a color show based on the emerald city in the Oz. So there’s that and a twist of my tragic fiction. I obviously don’t like war, but I think the poppies are a beautiful symbol for the fragility of living and dying. We are very much like the flowers that rot and comeback.
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Reblogged this on Havoc and Consequence.
Enshrined Poetry 
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