Atonement

It is dark and lonely. Though there is noise, one prays for silence. Just as one prays for rain, though it never falls. If anything falls from the sky it is red. It is blood. And no flowers bloom. No, they stay hidden in their seeds. Sheltered and waiting under ground, dehydrated as they crave water so they can spread their arms and legs to grow. Up, up, up.

No.

There are no flowers. They cannot bloom under such stress. Flowers are not allowed to bloom around ugliness. Though I pray they will. That we will be swallowed whole and caressed by their soft petals. Will the rain be allowed to fall and wash away our sins? If not let us succumb to the grounds beauty, and not the bullets.

Let this ground be left sacred and each time the flowers bloom... Each time the wind blows just right, the smell of rotting corpses and lost dreams will flow as the sun begins to set. 

War,

Has left us destroyed and in the end; we were destroyed in an effort for safety and pure times. But one cannot endure pure times while fighting such insanity. One is not allowed such a privilege. No. We kill. We end. We destroy. So I hope the flowers devour us. And for once, once it's too late; you will realize that there is safety in beauty. Not in violence. Not in guns. You will realize there is beauty but we do not deserve it.

Not anymore.