Clinging hard metallic walls
with veins sucking sweetness from little
leftovers trickling down
the gorse stayed dancing between
open spaces of hell and heaven.
Death like tussle with elements
yellow blooms suckled pollen
from air vents travelling in the streams
passing within reach
shedding its seeds into the waiting
arms of rare tourist birds
sojourning in the skyways
of distribution and danger. The gorse
started small, spread quickly
and took over the countryside
with no one watching.
The caliphate was born
under the black hood of death
and the guns aimed at all
with scimitars of control
too late to stem
or seep the spreading venom.
Whole armies now sacrificed
on the altar of ideals.
The crusades will begin again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved,2 months ago
Marshall Gass
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/gorse/
