I do not have to see the poppies to taste the senseless tragedy of the land. They say poppies mark the graves of fallen soldiers or perhaps they remember the tears of widows or the hollow in the chest of every child missing their father’s cold eyes and roughhoused games in crackled hands. How truly beautiful hills rise quickly from the waters and poppies bloom full and rich through carpets of grass red freckles and luscious green irises. Painting paradise, a paradise for me while politicians banter and debate, debasing the discourse: only soldiers know how awful war may be.
-Samantha Derleth