Graves For Flowers

The early grave is one of the saddest of all

For the earth would much rather wait,

Its soil repels life that could have been—

Life swept away by rage.

The saddest graves of all, however

Are the graves for flowers,

Little petals falling to the ground before their time

Those yet to bloom, ruddily ripped out—

Trampling upon the history that should have been made

To line pages painted in red.

The guns that fire will one day stop

And fall to the very same ground,

Flower-buds will rise again and grow—

Guns can only gather rust.

~*~

R.I.P. Peshawar