The Sunflowers by Jonathan Beale

(of Grabovo)

 

That still air holding no side –

just an innocent bystander:

as one with so many sightless eyes –

senseless to the deed,

 

railing across the sky’s simplicity

as the bloody butchers window.

The world is made-up of half-truths

and half-truths that dissolve –

 

Jacob’s ladder, there, just left

unattended seeming intertwined

in a moment – the toss of a coin:

the flick of a finger.

 

Between life and the alternative.

In a single frozen moment

sucked out from the heavens

and casted down to hell.

 

Not even the simple dream to stride

the heavens as pantheon.

As the sunflowers’ face of innocence

look bewildered seeing this scene.

 

Holding a quintillion quintillion of seed

each a single mass-of-hope

Each a universal day.

Drowned out by the bloody sky’s.

 

Marbled voice and shouldest destroy

them which destroy the earth.

In this corner of the world, this world,

this microcosm of the world

 

From some bland earthy paradise.

To an amazing stunning

Strangely appealingly hellish image.

The stench – drowning –

 

If Hieronymus Bosch’s eye could

have caught: that vision!

The Garden of Earthly Delights

to ‘The Seven Deadly Sins

 

and the Four Last Things.’

This inconceivable allegory

of what is to come or what we are

to become. And how close is perdition?

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