Dispatched to our recycle bins
the memory of their suffering
comes across as a
thawing out window
lost across the decades
rather than perpetual
constant moaning,
An epitaph in the wind,
sleeping in the distance
with shell like heads
and shaved eyes
staring at the camera,
counting to ten
engulfed in silence
in front of a candle
between emotions
that lie between
the pair of them,
praying silently their son
wasn’t on the next train.
(For Paul Cealan Who lost his parents
during the Second World War)
(A poem from the soon to be released split book 'Europa' with Nick Armbrister which explores real life stories set in the cruelty of War)
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
Dispatched to our recycle bins
the memory of their suffering
comes across as a
thawing out window
lost across the decades
rather than perpetual
constant moaning,
An epitaph in the wind,
sleeping in the distance
with shell like heads
and shaved eyes
staring at the camera,
counting to ten
engulfed in silence
in front of a candle
between emotions
that lie between
the pair of them,
praying silently their son
wasn’t on the next train.
(For Paul Cealan Who lost his parents
during the Second World War)
(A poem from the soon to be released split book 'Europa' with Nick Armbrister which explores real life stories set in the cruelty of War)
