Deafness fall upon me,
foul words I’ll heed no more
as you scatter them like Rapeseed
at the Earth outside my door.
From bloom of sickly spindles,
leaves of cabbage, white as milk,
petals burnt a Yield-less Yellow,
they asphyxiate their ilk.
Their nettles rise to meet my feet,
draw blood like mourning dew,
I grind them deeper than the roots
as I chop the ancient Yew.
In the clouded fields of Heaven
does a copse of flowers grow:
stem of emerald, petals pale-pink,
beneath gold sun, they glow.
Inside each bud, a person lay
in silent solace, there
forms a thornless, midnight rose
she weaves fast into her hair.
The ones who wait at Garden’s Gate
with water gourd in hand
shall pull from time the Evergreen Vine
of stewards for the land.
But like Adam come to Eden, too,
in dark dogwood you’ll find
another’s tainted finger who
dares pluck out yours or mine.
So I summon every Angel, be you
Winged, Felled, or Arch,
beat witness to my words to
make them corporeal as bark.
For those whose fielded flower’s fate
was tramped long before my prayer:
for every petal stolen,
plant a seed of Healing there.
For those who bore in silence
wicked deeds, both seen and done:
let words sow seeds that sprout
like weeds to blot out putrid Suns.
For the brazen, cursed heathen who steals
blooms for wilted, withered crowns:
let Judgement pass, sure and fast,
in lake of fire, swim and drown.
For those who wish to stop my chant—
my words are Rapeseed.
On windy current and water’s flow: