Fields

 Version 1

Beautiful sunshine. 

Fields of buttercups. 

Lambs playing in the spring. 

Dark clouds of poison smoke. 

Fields of bones and bodies. 

No one and no creature plays in ‘no man’s land’. 

Sunshine breaking through the clouds in a blue sky. 

Fields golden and ripe for harvest. 

Blackened sky. 

No light or life. 

No one to harvest, no harvest. 

All that is left is the aftermath of slaughter. 

God forgive our heartless species. 

God forgive us!

Version 2

I stood still in my favourite field and breathed deeply, taking it all in:

Beautiful sunshine.

Fields of buttercups.

Lambs playing in the spring.

Only days after I stood again in my favourite field, wide eyed, mouth open, trembling:

Dark clouds of poison smoke.

Fields of bones and bodies.

No one and no creature plays in ‘no man’s land’.

Only days before:

Sunshine breaking through the clouds in a blue sky.

Fields golden and ripe for harvest.

But, now:

Blackened sky.

No light or life.

No one to harvest, no harvest.

All that is left is the aftermath of slaughter.

God forgive our heartless species.

God forgive us!