Monday, November 8, 2010

THE SHADOWS OF DEATH

When we walk with
wooden legs &
have no arms to
hold each other &
our flesh burns

Are we brothers
of war?

Inside my head, the blast raises
blood hot clouds
children shriek
entombed in their beds

i hide with war
that takes no limbs but
cuts as paper to my flesh
a lethal holocaust

i fear these long fingers
executing and extinguishing
LIFE

i silently listen for
the pulse of peace


copyright: Dianne Tchir from THE RYTHMIC CYCLE