the trumpets sound
an enigmatic herald
though Demeter rejoices
of her daughter's return
her children have risen
with different colored
silks tied in their hair
twas a royal hue
they once waved in
the April glint and glow
but in this rain soaked
early morning hour
they awake in the
stains of battlefields
they stand tall in the
light from brothels
they blush in the
rouge of maiden cheeks
from deep within
their mother's heart
they have donned the
vibrant rust of the
Earth's molten iron core
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