Words and Lines

Not Found

by Tris Kerslake

Change is not the only thing we have, there must be flowers yet. Graffiti, little phones and ribbons for the dying, merest decoupage, selected icons, paper-thin, that stain the backlit fractures from a sweeter world, between the broken words of murder and of starving men, the child-crushed dreams of beaten girls, there must be, sometimes, brilliant lines of wonderment, between the pages. Give me flowers still.

Only find me places where today is thin, the gloss is dull, behind the sad, between the racks of yellow press and Kodak fear. Lay me down in rarest blooms and give me call to see just once, just once, that I am right, that we are greater than our images of dross and useless wealth and hold in state some wondrous simple life where bees are sacred and innocence is still a flawless thing.