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The great grandchildren of my friend, know the pain of her family and their death in a war that had no reason.

Smoke

Smoke

Can you feel the screams
This place holds for eternity,
Where the children fell,
And lives washed away
Into smoke in a chimney?

Planks of birch, settled
And worn smooth by feet
Sore and raw, bloodied
And torn by splintered
Memories of days gone.

Symbolic smiles stifle gasps
And horrible glimpses into a past
Unlived, unfulfilled, and shorn
Of kindness or understanding
As death gathered their dreams.

No more a chain of ancestral glee,
Gathered dust on Europe's plain,
Spares no tears on reasons
Or pain of night on these people,
As they arise only in thought.

Taken from the womb of home
Along tracks of steel and rust
To die for a grand scheme wronged,
In the mind of brilliant disgust,
Their price was death. No refunds.

Poetry by Morpheus
Read 604 times
Written on 2006-04-30 at 05:57