Fields of Fetor and Destruction

The mind implodes,

The heart shatters as

Shards of jagged glass

Scatter all about,

Instilling a paradox of fear and truth

From fallen, discarded flowers.

They spill, overflowing into

Fields of fetor and destruction.

Little beauty remains

Amongst tattered weeds

As they meld into

Thorn infused crowns.

In the lapse of a microsecond,

Reality invades within

The realm of the

Surreal, suspended garden.

The cusp lodged firmly betwixt

Morals and monster mentalities

Stretches tautly, pushing at

Boundaries of human compassion,

Designating their final place of rest.

Forgotten echoes of decency

Ring in a cacophony of bells

Throughout the wasteland,

Pleading like a resounding chorus,

Reverberating across

Hills and dales,

Stretching to

The height of heaven’s gate

And the depth of

Hades' ravaging fires.

*

Entranced,

You listen,

Unable to ignore

The ricocheting sounds

Or incessant vibrations

That beat through the conscience

Of your devastated heart.

*

Fear floods the garden with waste.

*

You are torn, afraid to move,

Though the urge persists,

Radiating to the core

Of doomed solitude and peace.

One step –

But a small movement forward –

Yet still akin to a gigantic leap

Into the vast universe….

Still, it calls, demands your response.

You feel it and you know it

With the breath and scope

Of combined knowledge derived

Through the years:

This one, minute step

Is an absolute, a necessity,

Whose call you must heed

More urgently than any other

In your lifetime.

And yet, the fear is all too real,

Encompassing the garden

With a foreboding of fear

And the permanency of death.

Though the fear runs rampant and

Petrifies your resolve,

With flooding determination,

You summon every ounce

Of courage submerges within.

It’s an innate strength

Born from life’s adversities

And emboldened by

The very heart of Eve.

You stumble but still move,

Creeping forward

Until the step is made……

For not to do so

Would mean you relinquish

The mere force of your existence,

or worse yet, the mere essence

Of your very soul.

In the crux of the moment

You realize the decision

Was not yours but

The manifestation of

A story emblazoned by scribes

In ancient books of yore.

*

Will man ever learn?

Is it possible for

Millions of hearts,

Carried on wings of

Ethical conscience,

Empowered by millions

Of seemingly inconsequential steps

To merge, absolve,

Change divergent waters

From intolerance to respect,

From mercilessness to kindness,

From inconceivable to honorable,

From immorality to decency,

From abhorrence to charity,

And most of all,

From bestial to human?

*

Oh, but to live life

In such a glorious way,

Knowing one small step

Made a monumental difference

In one garden.

‘Tis the most

To dare ever ask

From this life

So that death may be greeted

Knowing it was spent free

From chains that bind in

Unbridled shame and remorse.

*

It is true, the challenge prevails

Amidst the severe weight

Of the struggle.

Nothing of worth

Was ever easily accomplished.

Yet in striving so,

A garden flourishes free

From stones of impeding

Self-doubt, loathing, and regret.

‘Tis indeed the ultimate end

Toward which me must strive….

Until the very end of our days.

"Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" Peter, Paul, and Mary (1962, Written by Pete Seeger).