The Swelling Boomerang
Four scores and seventy
ingrained in blood stained garments
ancestors still rumbling in their graves
impatient souls lamenting their years
pages kept turning
pens are writing
and the story is unfolding
Dead trees hang over broken walls
threadbare buildings stand solemnly
in a city that was once their home
mothers weeping for their children
people scramble in the streets
and the great big God mewl from above
The tough bent curb wood swerves around
and cuts massive clouds into thin air
chopping trees pounding light posts
swinging and dancing from side to side
then paused upright in the open space
The karma
the sprit
the holy words
a limb for a limb
a sword for a sword
raw vengeance soaks up
the weeping earth
Stricken night makes its debut
swelling echoes mount from beneath
decades of blisters that clinches their feet
and the tension brewed as it gets closer
The moment fires strange emotions
filtering, wrangling and mooting
dignity and power captivates stubborn minds
and eminent slaughter looms from behind
anticipation impress heavily upon tainted lips
while an exodus flows in the manmade ditch
It aims directly at the center
empowered by a forceful northern wind
and moves vigorously toward the west
I saw her pulling his tiny hand
dragging him away from the screaming crowd
while she secured her little girl
intimately to her thumping chest
She struggles through the imposing crowd
with faith courage and determination
but the swelling boomerang ripped the children
from her weary arms
swiftly it disappears
and she heard these words
whispering in her ears
Wash your face
dry your tears
walk close to the mirror
and let down your hair
listen carefully
and tell me what you hear
breathe deeply
move slowly
you are here
©2013 Christine Phillips
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2013
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