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Asymmetrical

The boots moved slowly,
Crunching sun-baked clay.
A hazy wind down alleyways,
It moves with moans 
Then whistles softly,
Quickly gone.

A child stands in a doorway
Pulling something from his robe.
He keys in certain numbers, 
Only doing as he's told.

He waits, then hears a bomb
As it explodes.
A helmet lands and bounces
Near his feet.
He shrugs. then merges with a
crowded street.


Gene Bourne
06-03-14








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Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014

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Swetha Vangaveti Date: 1/28/2019 2:29:00 AM Explosion from the hands of an innocent soul ... Wonderfully written. Login to Reply

Sunita U.D Palawon Date: 1/27/2019 11:15:00 AM Traumatising...this incessant exploitation of the poor/the innocent/the dumb/the greedy...it's only a means to bring evil...you said it in such a short and simple way. The impact is great. :) Sunita Login to Reply

Mahtab Bangalee Date: 1/27/2019 4:36:00 AM Oh bomb! before understanding everything blended //// lovely poem, enjoyed I Login to Reply

Frederic Parker Date: 6/7/2014 8:20:00 PM you have soupmail Login to Reply Frederic Parker Date: 6/7/2014 8:58:00 PM Gene to the left of your picture it says inbox, also the coffee cup next to your picture will take you to soupmail if you want to contact someone on soup Gene Bourne Date: 6/7/2014 8:46:00 PM Hi, Fred.....I need to study this sight. I've never been able to locate any mail, other than the comments, like this one. I need to learn my way around. I've been spending most PC time copy pasting the 200 poems still left on another site, before I loose them. Thanks for informing me, Fred. Your friend,......Gene