A Poem Makes It Forever
In war,
for all its evil,
there is a strange beauty,
unwritten poems.
A hard, aching love,
for your brothers,
the dawn,
some impossible bird,
juking through shrapnel,
on flashing blue wings.
A wistful longing,
for oh, how the world could be,
always should be,
but is not.
A hard grimace,
of knowing,
it all does not matter...
no one listens.
So now, in the shadows,
darker hours,
memories make it all now,
while a poem...
makes it forever.
Dredged from the past,
where forgotten things belong.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
