Hands carried in empty pockets
like parcels wrapped:
bed and blankets
‘It’s fallen’ someone shouted,
no glittering fragments only a moving
panorama – all exactly as it was before –
yet somehow different.
Did my eyes ever avoid yours
Families are like the branches
of a river blackened – tapered
coloured candles: long ago extinguished.
The whitened faces of the Mothers
whispering in silence for their Sons all lost.
Naked bulbs reflect the light
we shall share this one last supper by
before – our final goodbye.
I knew from the cautious intake
of your breath – that soon
it would start: all over again.
For wars make prisoners of us all…
Poppy 2013 ~xx~