A field, full of armoured tanks and soldiers and guns – covered in beautiful, cut and wild flowers.
We march past, and people stop to take photos – turning war into Instagram.
We are flowers – once growing and beautiful but cut for the purpose of display and beauty, so we die. We add chemicals or dyes, we flatten and press them to try and preserve the life we have already taken. But we are flowers – once cut from our stem, we perish.
And as is the way of things. A beauty designed not to last. We are ruined by the spoils of greed and war – wanting more world than our home grown field. But one flower only needs one home to nurture it.
We long for youth and beauty and longevity- but they cannot co-exist. Time will make graves from us all.