Flowers from Hell
Run, my child, run,
before the battle of two brothers
change you into a heavenly messenger,
sowing flowers over our green fields,
that your feet never will touch again.
Your sin was to be born in a promised land,
torn and divided by hate,
ripped open to the heart,
where blood tainted
your past and future.
Your future was to be,
Your past was you,
you played like yesterday,
like an angel sowing love,
when he decided
it was time
to strike from heaven
with his rockets from hell.
Like fields of flower
clouds of red and yellow and white
drifted lazily over our green fields
to cover the scars
of a town, a region, a country,
terrorized, destroyed,
and to cover your broken body,
my child, born in hate and misery,
my child, robbed from your most valued,
your childhood.
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