Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Poem: After the war

Note: This is a very rough draft...

We were always at our best
when staring into the abyss

And we drank wine and ate bread
for the last time together
laughing a little
crying a little
as the kettles were overturned
against us
as our statues were pulled
to the ground.

We did not fear
the burning red skies
lit by a thousand fires
as the kettles became drums
beating out fresh charges
against us.

We did not feel fear,
but I do remember our pride...

We knew them as children,
they know us now as men.


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