A Year Ago, Part Two

A bouquet of roses,
a colorful symbol of life's gifts to me.
Bonds blooming,
wonders unfolding,
the petals of hard work blossoming.

But the flowers sit ominously upon the grave.

The epitaph reveals the birth of a vicious prejudice,
and harmless exaggerations darkened fatal.
A single raindrop crawls downward over the carved words
as I read.

The stone is decadently engraved,
comforting to the ones
who come to grieve.
They did not foresee his impending downfall,
but I did, powerless against time.

Next to the date of birth,
the dash seems to carry on into eternity,
a mockery to the life mercilessly severed.
The date of death is not yet written.

I stand over the tomb,
the assassins' eyes burnt into my mind.
The shield has become sword,
and staff become snake.

A gunshot rings out in the distance.

Struck down by the beautiful thing,
the infallible,
the just.
His valiant flee had begun too late,
too long lured in by the treacherous music.

A siren echos from across the fields.

The murderous troupe acts on.
They have done no wrong by the jury,
but the righteous were merely lambs before the wolves.

The raindrop completes its excruciating descent
and scatters in the grass.

A chilled hand comes to a rest upon my shoulder.
My friend greets me silently
as the warmth swells throughout my body.

July 12, 2011.

Its appearance in the rock was not at all unexpected.
Its prescence was prophesized by the earth.

Yet the raindrops continue to fall.

The dash's reign of invincibility is no more.