Daffodils

I know these daffodils will not compensate.

Pale yellow can never conceal crimson.

Only briefly wash over it, before retreating again.

Fail to form even the slightest tinge of orange.

These dainty little flowers are the result.

Of centuries of adversity and pain.

Our once hand sewn badges are now discarded.

And our striped uniforms burned and singed.

Time has allowed youth the privilege of naivety.

Our elders not as fortunate, with memories still engrained.

Yet the land of former purgatory, is the one which has most mended.

The foregoing field of corpses, giving birth to lively blooms.

Classes teach us now, a sincere attempt.

But bigots’ voices still vocalize their opinions.

Saying we’re greedy, all too powerful, the puppeteers of capitalism.

Little do they know, there are worse things to be labeled.

I know these daffodils will not compensate.

But I will continue to hold them unashamed.

For the lost, the broken, and the deniers.

We can have a hopeful future.