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James Hanson Poem
It’s happened again, the early morning fog, mixed
in with smoke that should’ve never beenthere.
It was just another day, nothing special but yet now
a day forever imbedded into the hearts and minds
of many like the shrapnel, glass, shards, and metal
debris implanted among those dead, the hundreds
injured and dying. More smoke, choking, bleeding,
screams of pain and horror and always more questions;
Who? What? and ALWAYS the why? Struck down are the young,
the elderly, the poor, the rich, people doing normal
routines but no matter the city, country, or nation,
nothing is normal anymore; just chaos and madness.
Now across the world much fear, anger, and sadness,
is felt now that this has happened again. Today won’t end
the way many thought it would; young children will sit
tonight, waiting for their father, waiting for their mother,
maybe waiting for them both, but realizing all too soon
that they will not be coming home; they were more victims
of violence lost to another nation’s hate.
Copyright © James Hanson | Year Posted 2005
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Details |
James Hanson Poem
A dagger stuck, twisted and skewed,
since the day I found out you’d been untrue.
Cold, sharp, pain flows from out the wound,
another scar not visible to the naked eye,
but still imprinted, branded here forever.
I’m not the only one, as different faces rush
through the streets in the busy mornings each day,
a gentleman sits alone at the bar, a young woman
reads in a coffee shop all trying to forget whatever
might have ailed them, to discard those hurtful
words, lies, and memories, of something once
pure, true, and real. The best friends come and gone
lost by deceit, betrayal, the family that never really cared,
or loved us, the years of mental and physical abuse,
or family just no longer here. Another broken heart,
that even as times passes, still seeps and aches
a little each day; how fragile the heart is indeed.
Broken, like champagne glasses falling out
of the freight, torn and tattered into two like an old,
discarded rug; and maybe the pain subsides, fades
long enough, quits temporarily, for a moment,
but our bleeding hearts will bleed and bleed until we
pass on. I know tonight mine still bleeds for you.
Copyright © James Hanson | Year Posted 2005
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