There's a field of sunflowers, fertilised
with blood and bone, that's fallen from the sky.
A forensic crop, to be scrutinised
for every seed of truth; felled from on high.
.
There'll be a harvest of human debris,
a reassembling of the scatterings.
There'll be an inquest into tragedy
with assessment of its smatterings.
.
And all of this... and all of this for what?
A crime scene, rich with humanity's loss.
A battle field, a war zone; someone's plot
eternal, and 'they' couldn't give a toss.
.
Scatterings - the source of recovery.
Smatterings - the course of discovery.
.
© Tim Grace, 13 September 2014
About the Creator
Tim Grace
A first impression has a lasting effect - it makes a notable difference. In a subtle way that’s who I am as a poet. A ‘first impression’ looking for the gentle ‘twist’ that draws attention to a novel observation.
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