Petals of platelets flee
the husks of skin and hair
emptied of liberty,
leaving our garden bare.
No gardener was maimed,
we were only sleeping.
While we were entertained
the mob stole our freedom.
As our shining Red Sea
flows among the tombstones
engraved with guarantees,
grinning skullls and crossbones
of grim politicos
inspire the patriots,
deluded, and yobos
to rampage and riot
behind the strobe smokescreen
of media disguises.
Smug pundits smile and preen
and replace sense with lies.
Under the loud bleachers
our scarlet roses fled
while the unbowed preachers
trampled our sweet seed bed.
Duane Vorhees
.