Burning Poppies

Poppies are deadly.

Fields of poppies sway
to and fro,
colors shimmering with
the tides of the wind.
To and fro,
to and fro.
A lovely lady settles
amongst the dancing poppies,
which move to and fro.
Her golden hair catches the light,
its corn silk smoothness spilling over
her shoulders and down her back
like a waterfall of cascading sunlight.
A milky pale hand,
half-tanned by the sun's kisses,
reaches out and plucks
a single fiery scarlet-magenta poppy
swaying to and fro.
Its gleaming sheen
nearly blinds the lady,
who twists the flowers
round and round
between her pale palms.

One by one,
delicate fingers pull the poppy's petals
from its pollen-packed center.
The lady's nose brushes
the naked center,
inhaling a gentle, sweet scent.
She slips a square of white cloth,
tangibly softly,
into her free hand.
The plush petals serenely sail
on a whisper of wind,
snowflakes sluggishly drifting down
to rest on the white cloth.
The golden-haired lady
rolls the cloth into
a small, tight cylinder.
From her swirling, rainbow-splashed skirt,
the lovely lady retrieves
the tiniest of boxes.
She slides it open,
lifts out a minute match,
and violently snaps it
against the box's sandpaper side.

Awakening from its heavy slumber,
a flame moves to a silent number.
To and fro,
to and fro.
By her milky tan hand,
the lovely lady lifts the flame,
moving to and fro,
to the end of her cloth.
Golden sunshine hair swings forward
as her lips pucker to accept the cloth.
Slowly consuming the cloth and petals,
the flame flares at the end,
its light a glowing ember
fed by the fire.
Meanwhile, the lady flings
her still-burning match
into the ocean of colorful poppies,
its tide waving to and fro.
She sucks on the opposite end
of her tight white cylinder,
lips moving in a lover's kiss.
As the affair continues,
sweet smoke clandestinely creeps
in through the lady's inhalation
and sweeps throughout her body.

The same sweet smoke rises
and floats on a zephyr
about the lovely lady.
Her beautiful body sways drunkenly,
to and fro,
intoxication's hand fiercely gripping her.
To and fro.
The fields of poppies,
with their scarlet-magenta hue,
dangerously dance to
an unheard rhythm,
to and fro.
The spiraling smoke spat
into the azure sky
chokes it life and
taints the cotton clouds
with oily, black poison.
Flames creep through the grass
and pounce on each poppy,
consuming their fill and sneaking off
to search for more prey.
One by one,
poppies fall and die
to sate the hunger
of their slayer.
Field by field become
ashes to ashes.

The lovely lady lies
in fields of ashes.
Her corn silk hair fans
about her head,
a halo of glimmering scarlet-gold.
Wide, glassy eyes listlessly gaze
up into the poison-stained heavens.
The cylinder of cloth
she had held to her lips
burned a hole through
her delicious pink flesh.
Ashes stain her rainbow skirt
and dust the ground around her.

Fields of poppies no longer sway
to and fro,
colors dull with
the dust of death stirred
by a sigh of wind.
No longer to and fro,
never to and fro.
One thing glints through the gloom:
a circle of silver
hanging from the throat
of a beautiful, dead hippie.
The peace symbol around her neck
lays against a long-cold blouse.
Its pulsing, metallic heat scorches
through delicate, spider web-thin fabric,
made hot by the licking flames
of that one match.
The lovely lady,
once filled with light and promise,
now lays in a bed of ashes
that has long since become
her grave.
Memories of those
fields of burning poppies
reaches towards the sky
in a thick, choking plume of smoke,
too soon forgotten,
swaying to and fro.

Author's Note

I don't know exactly what I wrote this for. xD
Probably the longest poem I have ever written. I worked on this for about three days, trying to keep the tone the same and using various rhetorical devices I learned about in my AP English class. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

I could hardly believe the length after I finished. :S

P.S. The hippie part isn't intended to be insulting of their beliefs. It's merely used as symbolism.

Reviews

[Inyourshadow]

Yeah you found the opiate the poets sought, only you boil it in hessen and dry out before smoking lol, still love the imagery of the lady rolling one up and burning up the entire crop inhaling the scent of poison from something so beautiful, finding releash in nature and death through desire. This is a beautifully dark poem to nature and the nature of the beast. If only she had stuck to smelling it instead of smoking it. keep em' coming

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

A beautiful write. I adore poppies and have written of them many times myself. I can honestly say I have never written anything this long either. You have shown your brilliance in this one.