On a hot midsummer day
A traveler discovers
A most unique sight indeed
Some dozen men, and their huts
Surround a field of flowers

Among fleur-de-lys
An outsider comes across
Secretive beauty

She requests to take one home
Village folk swiftly refuse
Calling the field a keepsake
And their duty to preserve
Quickly she’s sent on her way

And she does not mind
This meeting of chance, cut short
Its memory stays

But ruin strikes the hamlet
At once, countless flowers wilt
Confusion, shock, and sadness
Has that wayfarer caused this?
And could it happen again?

Among fleur-de-lys
Winds of change spread angst and dread
As a circle shrinks

But no action is taken
On this incident’s first day
Without a grasp of culprit
Or method, or the motive
Painfully they drift to sleep

Despite dreams of grief
Despite fears of tomorrow
Morning break still comes

The dawn’s pale sunlight reveals
The lily tragedy’s scope
Overnight, nearly half died
So a council’s quickly formed
To catch traitors with posthaste

Among fleur-de-lys
Seeds of distrust start to bloom
As a circle shrinks

The misfits are exiled first
Still more flowers lose their lives
Those with no alibis next
The phenomenon persists
Does this mean conspiracy?

A man fumes, restless
For he knows what must be done
He stands up and screams

“We must purge this land with haste!
Even now we’re losing ground
To liars, fiends in hiding
Patriots, we must stand tall!
We must do what must be done!”

Among fleur-de-lys
Fever-pitch emotions reign
As a circle shrinks

There were some who fled the scene
Forsaking duty, maybe
Hoping for calm lives once more
Those who stayed, souls burning strong
Charge with newfound clarity

Flames of war are lit
To fight, to die for beauty…
Is that beauty too?

“How could I have been so blind?”
A knife is thrown, finding home
“The friend I know is long gone!”
A skull is crushed by a stone
“Why did you ever come here?”

Among fleur-de-lys
Love is soiled by blood and tears
As a circle shrinks

Only two remain standing
Gone are village and lilies
The villain now clear at last
Two pairs of eyes interlock
Just one more man in the way

A chilling gust blows
Moments of calm, gone too soon
They begin their move

A slice, a dodge, weapons lost
A kick, a choke, an eye poke
Hidden blades are drawn at last
One cuts a thumb, one the heart
And just like that, one remains

Among cherished ash
Nothingness has taken root
But a winner stands

Though no fleur-de-lys remains
Promises made still have hold
A tattoo of the flower
Preserved still, forevermore
Adorns the warrior’s chest

Through painful trials
He won, won, chicken is done
Glory to his name!