»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #48
»
Gods Twelve Year Rest
| Open Poetry #48 |
|
Gods Twelve Year Rest |
|
|
Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
They were innocent under their own skin believed that the northern wind would always flow through their yards, clotheslines basking in its draft They believed that strifes of life were merely pinches of pain where the bruise of a knee or the cut on a face were their greatest obstacles They had the idea that life was beautiful love and birth the joys of children's laughs parading through the suburb streets where that first stare the one that lasted until they finally came for what was to come was unimaginable The trains that bustled in and out the tears hands being torn away from one another as one by one they began to disappear began to become brittle their hair slowly thinning the soil; restless, dry content with its own being The fences sharp, high as a kites dream guards at every corner and the dream of staying alive was slowly a deserts wish to stay cold during the day Hope it doesn't last very long nor does the torment of screams that skim the nights sky with such a sharp razor that stomachs turned, hands gathered and those chambers Stainless, cold Releasing gas groups of naked women and men huddled together helpless, a scene that would soon be gone along with their bodies soon to be burned back to the earths soil So many people were lost family members merely existing by photos Today, a man struggles with his identity In how to cope with the such painful scenes that pale to anything he will ever see They say that God made life but why create, if lives are lost from its very own roots? Where was the great almighty all those fateful years? Lord knows, people prayed from morning to night to crease the sky wide open so each and every one of them could be be in utopia again Its a fine line I walk along it still burns inside restless in my heart For I carry its scars I carry the pain from my grandparents that followed down to my parents reaching the hearts of my sister and I The world stopped turning those 12 years stood on an axis shook off the frigid winters humid, hot summers and left millions of people perilous helpless God rested shadows came and gone and life to those who perished realized that life was simply a lie where they were born into white cloth to only be burned into black coal at their very last breath. |
||
| © Copyright 2013 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
