No Conscience
June storms come lashing down on roses. They
Hold up as best they can like soldiers trapped
By heavy friendly fire. June rains betray
The blossoms. Pinkest petal strength is sapped.
The perfect stems and leaves, though under fire
As ally slams against them, still resist
The onslaught, but the petals land in mire.
Unsatisfied the winds and rains persist
And force more blooms to droop. More petals fall
And try to huddle for protection. Stone
For sleeping is their lot. The springtime brawl
Explodes blooms separately. They drop alone.
..The ones that cling to branches slowly rust
….To browns. Survivors suffer June’s disgust.
~ Phillip Whidden