Haunting
By Beeme
Sun, 19 Jun 2011
- 851 reads
3 comments
Every night's
the same prayer.
Not on his knees
but in his job,
with shaking hands
he lifts the man
onto the stretcher,
the anti-aircraft gun
rips the air in two
even the bullets enter
the hospital doors,
faces covered
bodies fallen to the floor,
eyes shut tight
attempting to dream,
imagining another hospital,
on the other side of town,
where his body isn't found,
it doesn't lie in the morgue,
senseless and evidence
of a war crime,
he sees him
his flickering shadow
amongst the crowded streets,
his trembling hands
never unearthing the receipt.
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Comments
Some disturbing images, but,
Some disturbing images, but, perhaps that is as it should be? Well done.
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And a well done from me on
Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
And a well done from me on this one, two Beeme.
War not a pretty subject, nor, as celtic says, some of the images mentioned here, but because of this the poem gets its hard-hitting message across more than effectively.
Tina xx
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