The Strange Flower of Control

The strange flower with its fluttering petals
Will run through the woods of silent exclamations,
Planting blood seeds of a loving hatred
Which we hope will grow into an army of children.

We’ll raise them up in a valley of floating hope
Carefully narrating stories of twisted rules
And before the sun rises their minds will know
That the heat will drive away all that floats.

Spiraling down the eyes of all the little figures
You’ll see that the mist will slowly show
Dancing in purple circles of mistaken realities,
Illusions as concrete as the strange flower of control.

Homunculi and humans none different from the other
Will trip along the way hand in hand
Through the woods writhing in loud, incessant pain,
Losing their visions in structured theories of darkness and light.

Neither this nor that of the unfolding stories
Shall stop them from trudging along
The paths of natural decay and forced births,
Of the long dead and newly reborn.