Where have all the flowers gone?

Pockets full of pick and choose,
delphinium, daffodils and dead leaves
adorn the corners of my provincial gaze. 
 Below, churned soil, bed to daunting grave
glinting gold letters worn by lime,
showcase the iridescent fable of a soldier’s fame. 
 Side by side, letters sound out consonants
devoid of dissonance, vexed vowels haunt lost vitals.
Veteran of violent times.

Just one upon the sea of unknown names;
 ingloriously glorified , just a gravestone, just the same. 
 I walk across his bones, hollowed by trepidation,
 tired by time. Warm wormhole exasperated earth.
 I envision fitful and forlorn,
fetus pose so deafened and defamed.  

Once blood beat through the veins of my stranger by time,
bearing a name not too dissimilar to mine.
Abash of life, luxury, light-
I decline to the gruesome lime.
 I detest the fantastic bewitchment of fate;
perfidious pretentious, I pretend.

Largely enormous, too gaunt- a God fearing mask so profane.
Like the pungency of disaster blistering the skin of soldiers,
is this gripping, gaping, shade of guilt.  

My dear Corpse, never can I exonerate this myopia of shame, for all of your daffodils have disintegrated.