days of war life
like sand through the hour glassso are the days of war life
ephemeral and fleeting
like the days of a mailman
they slip through the key hole
like a message made of oil
they shine on you forever
like a golden sun of coal
we lie here in the desert
and listen to the rocks
they speak a language made of noise
only bullets understand
the snakes crawl in my chest
they bite when I try to smile
there is a piano on a dune
a monkey's sitting by the keys
he can't reach the pedals
his fingers bleeding
grains of sand and faraway stars
the temperature is never right
I hear underwater shootings
like being stuck beneath to many blankets
here we become adults
we who never will be anything
we who never
had time to be at all.
Poetry by C-F Haegring
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Written on 2011-12-22 at 00:24
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