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Open Poetry #49
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On The First Anniversary My Heart Finally Broke (a repost)
| Open Poetry #49 |
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On The First Anniversary My Heart Finally Broke (a repost) |
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icebox Member Elite
since 2003-05-03
Posts 4383in the shadows 
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Still, I hear the pipes sing Amazing Grace I hear them in my dreams I hear the screams every day, months of cadenced march out of an open pit mine of souls, all day long and through the night in and out of mind until my heart ran out of song. Today bells ring, performers sing and everybody's priests ask gods for treats. Each name a moment held in all solemnity on edge to slip into eternity; pomp and circumstance, a ceremony's tears and choking fears that this will mean an end to the beginning of the years we mark remembering the dead, living dead names all run together, labels on one giant blended bleeding soul. If one more plastic politician says, ‘Let's roll,' I think I will be sick. The dead can sleep, where is peace for heart and soul that could bring quiet to the living? We mourned a year. We buried buttons and a watch, a rock, handfuls of dirt and ash, a shoe or two, some bone fragments, photographs in empty caskets, memories in sleepless nights full of empty arms and empty beds, tears in empty hearts. It's time to leave the past. For some, we became as Death in a time to stalk revenge cold and crafted with precision in deserts, fields and mountains, where we are hated for existing, where gods are left with questions, where evil breeds in men, where each victory brings two graves and self-serving politicians bend the world back into their greed. So, the need, there are no answers and so, the killings never end. There is no grief beyond the love of that which death can steal. There is no deal to make, no memorial to shake the monstrous memories, smell, taste of human flesh and blood in ashes mixed with fuel melted steel vaporized concrete, grit that clogged our eyes a blessing in disguise; shame of hoping winds would change, the dream's there every day, turn back and turn away run, no where to go, who died when there is nothing left to hold but memories' deadly clouds thick choking terror floating wild in toxic air, horror grown so full that vision's lost, sounds of bodies hitting ground just beyond the reach of sight within the sounds, quick claws of fright, no where to hide. No where to hide. ©2003, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 by icebox (written, September 11, 2002; edited as above) |
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| © Copyright 2015 icebox - All Rights Reserved | |||
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
In deep thought this eve of... |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
fine writing...james |
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