Corpse Garden

In the shallow fields of a battle once lost

A fertility too evil to comprehend

Lays a spectacle that none want to behold

Withering, yet blossoming as one

A thousand remains lay untouched

Except by the passage of time

Cursed they say, so none go near

To see the truth at work

There is a rancid smell, of death and decay

Yet, what is this barely detectable undertone

Of flowery sorrow and mossy delight

Could such a thing exist?

While the stripped bones lay around

The moss and lichen grow abound

The flowers of death in purples, reds and blacks

Utter proclamations from every crack

It's a funny mix, disgust and delight

Where death meets life, and time meets sight

Where sproutlings grow, when they should not

For the sun shines not often there

No names written upon rocks

No visitors for their souls

Yet in exchange for worldly gifts

The corpse garden grows and grows