Flowers And Whores

Upon the rolling hills of green
  see the California poppies sing.
This flaming orange flower scene
  impels the land of fire to ring.
A white, misted fog since rolled over
  now sunlight sparkles the dew.
Sporadic sights of white owl's clover
  dots of lupine's velvet blue.
Come feel the beauty and the passion
  tears will surely fill the eyes.
And see the splendor of this caption
  but, take care from hidden lies.
For here amid the stocks of glory
  nestled in nature's flower bed.
A body soaked in blood, so gory
  a single bullet through the head!
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, are we cancerous sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?  


Arizona's rugged mountainscapes stand daily
  to shade the queen of the night.
As the mighty saguaros and cat's claw gaily
  bask within this desert's light.   
The paloverde's smooth green skin
  and the cholla's spiky quills.
Shield the breath of a fiery wind
  as it curls 'round the hills.
Hear the call of the cactus wren
  or the coo of a mourning dove.
Smell the death beneath you when
  the buzzards circle high above.
Clear away the rocks and cast an eye
  past the prince's plume.
A death by murder this child of five
  within the silent gloom.
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, are we cancerous sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore! 
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?


When clumps of silver croton give way
  to camphor daisies and railroad vine.
The morning glories call in a new day
  white blossoms reflect a Texas shine.
The silky sand from beaches fly
  across this gulf of turquoise blue.
Let dunes roll on and never die
  and great blue herons stand up true. 
See the white fragile gulls against the sky
  as if, suspended on a string so steep.
Circle miles of beach with a watchful eye   
  and listen to evening primrose sleep.
But there upon pristine white and blood soaked red
  laid out beside that sea from God.
A woman raped then bludgeoned and left for dead
  shall see no more the golden rod.
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, are we cancerous sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society, or are we its' whores?


Alabama's sweet tobacco posies show
  the wisdom for more passive ways.
But killers within our society know
  the coming of more darkened days.
A withered tulip reserved for those who slay us
  remember thou shalt not kill.
For redemption we strive, but our ways betray us
  and the murders happen still.
As children observe and mimic our actions
  and life becomes this sordid game.
We stand apart, divided in factions
  pointing fingers at those we blame.
We society's blossoms, must open wide 
  let every color blend.
For if we do not the flowers will die 
  a most unpleasant end!
--Hear the screaming of the innocent, here then nevermore.
Are we to be cut from our society, we the cancerous sores?
--Hear the pleading cries of innocence, hear them I implore!
Are we then flowers of our society?  No, we are its' whores! 


             "Roses are red, the color of blood
              Open and shed the whores of flood.
              The flowers are lives we once led
              All shriveled up and laid over... 
                        and most assuredly dead!"