Late Spring Flies

Barbed wire fences stretch down this dirt road

All the way to the dusty iron gates that hold back

The secrets of an ill regarded graveyard

A space of well intentioned headstones that lie in wait

For the paranoia of the seasons to come to an end

Late spring flies gather and swarm

Between shadows of the passing years

In nonsensical terms this all makes perfect sense

Innocence

In a sense

Lost through time

Revoked beauty held hidden just beneath the surface

Blood runs from the trees down through the roots

The buds of a pale future drown in the soil

Before they will ever have the chance to bloom

Nothing will survive the coming days

But we should be so lucky for the chance to start again