oh to the world she sang
all night long, her song was the
only break the people
could hear from the perpetual and insistent
persistent ringing of car horns.
police sirens. and gun shots.
all through the night she sat - a constant
in a universe of atmospheric
change, a world of ever-lasting
inconsistency. it was sweet, a hummingbird’s call,
a sweet candy in amongst the notes. her
chord was her friend and her voice
was the end. of the war for the night
for the fight and
all who listened stopped short
and forgot the cause.
why did they do it? was the repeated
line, why did they ****? she cries, her voice
forever flourishing, beautiful and sacred,
but evidence suggests there’re under
tones of broken strings and mismatched hymns, a
cry of pain... nestled like the bird she sounds of.
why did they **** my family?
the sanctity of her voice broke the
‘sanctity’ of the war.