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Beneath A Patchwork Sky

Soar over black earth birds won’t dare,
But flocks of bullets streak the air.
When rains on spring horizons loom,
Wreaths of shrapnel shall be in bloom.
Where I’m going, gods shall despair.

Wraiths of smoke will usurp the sky,
Mottle light where clouds nestled high,
Clods feud-flung into vaulting flights,
Soil memories of long-gone kites,
Smear winds by dandelions plied.

Where blood and sympathy are shed,
And in vain love with hatred pled,
I’ll serve a purpose no one knows,
When we march beneath burning coals
By a long patchwork sunset bled.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 12/10/2017 7:54:00 PM
In one word your poem is just awesome Bernard, but no matter how pretty the words, war is war, in reality cold, ugly and ruthless. I particularly love your strong concluding lines , you are a fantastic poet....Maria
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Bernard Chan
Date: 12/10/2017 9:43:00 PM
Thank you for dropping by and for your generous comment, Maria :)
Date: 11/17/2017 10:51:00 PM
Wow Bernard! What a powerfully evocative and beautifully expressed poem about the ugliness and madness of war. The juxtaposing imagery you use is shocking in a very effective and artistic way. The shock and awe of this poem is truly amazing to me! Excellent write and so enjoyed!!
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Bernard Chan
Date: 11/18/2017 3:46:00 AM
Thank you, Susan! :)