Still Millions Of Flowers

It doesn’t matter
now. The earth
is sick, afflicted even,
but it will shake it off —
even a nuclear war
will be over in a blip
of time. No one
is going to remember
your name and meanwhile
there will still be war
and millions of flowers
and children who won’t
even recall you existed,
not more than a day or so.
You might as well
scream at the troopers
though it seems weak,
might as well stand stolidly
against the ranks until
they choose you to slay.
It doesn’t matter much.
The long arms of the gods
will serenely brush you aside
with a profound, grateful glance.
The world will eventually
catch up to their embrace.
You won’t die in vain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T