Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Poem: After the war

After The War

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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