Never Free
Upon this steep September hill,Our lives changed by being here,
To see the stones, and worn dirt paths
To the graves of martyrs buried twice
And we know that none of us are free.
The city grew around this ground,
The trees are tall and the fences strong,
Students walking up the leaning walk,
Knowing little of these lives that thrived
Before they were forever placed on hold.
At oceans edge on an April day,
The bodies were brought ashore,
The survivors wept for the dead they left
On the oceans shuddered deepest floor,
Returned in grayed boats, one by one,
Each numbered as they reached this land
One by one, entombed in the arc
That now resembles a steady ships bow,
These graves are solemn, sad and quiet,
The ones who dared to choose life and death.
To turn and walk down this hill,
The guests all turn and stare
At the tiny little stone for a little boy
Who died and broke the hearts of many,
He lies upon the top of the arc,
A child of Europe, and fair of hair,
His eyes of blue were lightly shut,
These saddened members of Titanic's crew
Gave coin, and tears, and shrouds and shoes,
To the one Unknown Child who died that day.
Walking down broken side paths
Changed souls stumble on broken rocks,
Onto their lives, they humbly traverse,
Taking with them their somber memory
And knowing again, they are never free.
Poetry by Morpheus
Read 637 times
Written on 2006-07-03 at 05:44
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tony |
Kathy Lockhart |
liz munro |
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