Love is love they say as their loveless mouths spit each syllable like a foulness upon their tastebuds. All the while spouting poisonous scriptures on why your kind of love is not adhered to, not seen, not recognised.

And if it is not recognised, but you still dare to live outside their boundaries, you are cast away.

Family is everything, they speak as though that ought to be enoug...

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Up on poppy hill they say, where no animal makes a sound.
No children wander off to play, just poppies all around.

If I recall between you and I, In that bright red field of flowers.
Like a crimson wave, a scarlet sea, hides stories full of powers.

For it was up on poppy hill, you know, in the red fields there yonder.
Where you might see the lonely widow, as she often starts to wander.

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She smiled from the window sill,
A heart so weighed by sorrow.
She admired the night with onyx eyes,
Ever waiting for tomorrow.

She sung upon the sill so still,
Gazing from star to star.
And wasted wishes every night,
For those who lived so far.

Ever selfless yet wanting more,
She’d wish upon their health and love.
She’d live for hope like never before,
For the voices up above.

A...

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