Hate you strike, without a thought
A sudden tempest on a calm spring day
Plucking at the cherry blossoms
Their fragile petals, fair like snow
Now stained with blood, and the tears
Of too many punctured promises
Dreams that will never come true
As the storm sweeps them from sight
Up above, a burning crimson sun
Cries fiercely in torment, sinking now
Into the still ashes of another night
This one blackened by grief’s shadow
As even the stars have dimmed their gaze
Is it respect? Or a callous detachment?
I’ll pray for their beacons to glow once more
And guide mortal hearts to unite with love
Image: Dali, Archaeological Reminiscence of Millet’s Angelus