5754
Flowers of Fate
22 October 2006

A flower to my heart, a blossom to my soul.
The root of my passion, and
these feelings of faith, made whole.
An empty field, a holocaust of hate,
man’s beginning, cut down in bitter spirit.
This trace of love, regarded as fate.

Some call it religion, others call it
belladonna in paradise.
A genocide dissected and ignored,
this peace of a world trodden under step.
An element of hope, yet paid in price.

Such an aborted existence, rich to travail.
Where was Rachel, now those tares
had been delivered to prevail.

The waving of olive branches in the wind,
headwear for salvation, yet personified,
on a path of deliverance to encounter.
Bodies of entity, starved and thin.

Not all will be good, neither to flowers sweet.
That poison of defiance, a protector.
God does give, yet only in ways let,
man must learn, or neither
respect provocation upon a child’s fete.


"You don't have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump. Lace
knickers won't hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in a feather boa
just as well as without, and a mild interest in the length of hemlines doesn't
necessarily disqualify you from reading Das Kapital (written by Karl Marx
in German, and first published in 1867) and agreeing with every word."
Princess Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco (1897-1945),
English writer and the daughter of the Prime
Minister of Great Britain Herbert Henry Asquith


© 2006 Christopher W Herbert (a New Zealand Poet)

a poet who cares