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kayla-knightPoems
If I were to write a poem about you, my haunted Spanish artista, I wonder what it would look like. Can words on a paper simple lines and colorless letters sum up what I feel when I see you fears? The war. A war I cannot imagine, young and innocent as I am. Would the words be jarring, a handful of stinging bullets, LOUD and TOXIC, bombs and sirens and screams? Would they be sloooow and sluuured, blood seeping into the streets, or the last rattling breath of a dying man? Or would they be quiet? The quiet would be worst, I think an aftershock of loss and pain, salty tears whispering down the cheeks of mothers holding still children, prayers murmured into the night. Mi Dios Ayudame Por favor
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Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
Guernica
If I were to write a poem about you, my haunted Spanish artista, I wonder what it would look like. Can words on a paper simple lines and colorless letters sum up what I feel when I see you fears? The war. A war I cannot imagine, young and innocent as I am. Would the words be jarring, a handful of stinging bullets, LOUD and TOXIC, bombs and sirens and screams? Would they be sloooow and sluuured, blood seeping into the streets, or the last rattling breath of a dying man? Or would they be quiet? The quiet would be worst, I think an aftershock of loss and pain, salty tears whispering down the cheeks of mothers holding still children, prayers murmured into the night. Mi Dios Ayudame Por favor
© 2010 by Kayla Knight
Written by
kayla-knight
American
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 10:59 PM UTC
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