The remembrance flower

The remembrance flower thrives,
the petals tug the heart,
the seeds grasp the mind.
First red coats, then green, then beige
under foreign skies.

All seem similar at first glance,
until the sandy surface is scratched.
Black gold emerges to cover the pools of blood and lies.

Mein fuehrer is dead, but his memory lives on,
fuelled by the army of red tops and blue ties.

Beelzebub is an old man with a beard who watches TV,
apparently.
He is not the cause, just the distraction,
whilst the graveyard of empires is raped once again
for seed, rock and enduring freedom.

And as the good men in blinkers and boots,
point their guns at fearful hooded peasants.
Our attention wanders with stories of Islamic Hook and McVie in our midst.
The cloudy waters of truth are repeatedly stirred
As we all raise money for the rehab of young Ahab