Do not misuse the darling
That would wrap her hands
Around
The tender girl
Who would take
Her fist to your mouth

Who would tear down
What we have made
So tenderly wrought
And come of age
In a time when metal
Bends to plastic
And plastic props up flesh.

What we have made
Is ripe for harvest-
As is an isolated innocence
Revered for its pure existence
Yet useless, isolating

A child standing alone in a
Poppyfield
An endless red enclosure
That fences in thought

The ones in the field come upon
Its edges and step lightly
Feel an unsettling hum
In the ever-still air,
And see what is rising
Above the bloody horizon.

If we would protect them,
We must slay them,
Own them:

They always make it to the edge
Of that poppyfield
Best give them their own
Fires to light

Do not misuse the darling
Whose own darlings
Will repopulate the field
Of flowing flowers
And vacate them in time
Whose revolution will bring change
That renders reality unknowable
To us, or infinitely knowable
As unchangeable tenets
Become pillars visible

Above fluctuating melee

Disabuse her
Do her the favor
And let lifeblood
Flow within her veins
Instead of opium

Let her fail the test
With flying colors,
Flying reds and
Atmospheric blues

As she floats above
And below
Simultaneously

Do not block your face
Do not let your nostalgia
Blind her
Bind her

Do not think you know better always
When what you know is simply
More

Feel the wild poppies swaying
In a sighing wind, resigned
As the innocent pluck petals
To fill a child's mind

It's beautiful,
But only up to a point.