bradford horton

Field of Flowers

To All Victims

 

There is a field of flowers:

An unsurpassed beauty,

For all the senses.

 

No two are alike,

So individually they contribute,

To the greater experience.

 

The tall shield the short,

And the strong protect the weak.

Each contributes to the strength.

 

On occasion, one falls to the outside.

On occasion, the strength fails.

On occasion, there are gaps in the field.

 

The fallen are dearly missed,

But the tears of the mourners,

Can raise the fallen to new life.

 

The risen are stronger than ever.

For they have been tested,

And through adversity they prevailed.

 

For every riser, there are less fallen.

For every riser, there are less mourners.

For every riser, the field is more beautiful.

The Chase

The pointed peaks glisten softly as the raven swoops in

Something stirs in a dark cave, barely visible

Roaring to life, the canyons echo its call

The solitary hunter enters the trail

Eyes scanning for a chase

An unaware prey

The beast moves silently  

The prey is none the wiser

A pounce like a lightning flash

A roar matching a nearby thunder clap

The beast remains unsatisfied in the young night  

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