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Tap Water Aug 10
I still remember that day. The pain in his eyes as my boss dragged me away. The way he lifted his arm, as if he wanted to grab me and bring me back to him. The looks of scorn and disappointment in everyone's eyes as they watched us be separated. The small smile on that American man's face as he realises that he, the 'hero', has once more 'saved the day'.

I sigh as I slowly close the bedroom door. It has been a whole year. Why am I still thinking about him?
I spot a piece of paper and a quill laying in a jar of ink on my desk. Maybe I should write him a letter. But would he read it? Will he even receive it? I might as well try.

8/5/1946

Dear Germany,

Ciao! It's been a while, hasn't it?
How are you? Do you need help paying off debts?
I'm getting very lonely here.
Even my Fratello is avoiding me.

A lot has happened since the war ended.
I have a new anti-fascist government.
People started going around killing fascists.
It was really scary, but my boss said it was the right thing to do.
I know they were bad, but I don't like watching people die!

I hope you're ok.
Austria said you were feeling sick after your mean boss died.
But you didn't really look so good before that, either...

Anyways!
Do you want pasta?
I know it isn't your favourite
But I want to do something for your birthday.

We are still friends, right?

Please reply,
Italy Veneziano
Finally, a poem+story for my Isolated AU. Well, sort-of poem. Not sure what it is. The letter is written on VE Day, one year after the end of WW2. Fratello means brother in Italian, the brother of course is Romano/South Italy. Germany's mean boss is Adolf ******.
About Isolated: In this AU, the three main Axis countries are separated from each other and forced to cut all forms of contact after WW2. Also, Prussia dies and Gilbird lives with Germany.
And for you Americans, the date is 5/8/1946. Don't know why you guys like backwards dates, but ok.
Tap Water Jul 11
I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
My time has finally come to an end.

After this war,
I will be no more.
Our countries will merge,
Just like they did
When Vater still existed.

I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
It is time for me to join Vater in Himmel.

Who knows, perhaps one day
You shall raise un kind
Just as awesome as me.

Heh, I doubt it.
Nobody can be
As awesome as me.
Not even after
I leave this world.

Bruder, promise me
After I die,
That you will take care of Berlin,
And carry on
My legacy.

Perhaps you will go on
To build a great empire,
Just like Vater did.

If you do,
Promise me you won’t **** another 11 million people for fun.

I suppose this is it, mein Kleiner Bruder.
My time has finally come to an end.



Lebewohl, mein Kleiner Bruder,
Ich werde dich vermissen.
Another Hetalia poem, this time about Prussia and a possible AU where he actually dies after WW2. I'm not exactly fluent in German so I may have messed up here and there. Lebewohl = Farewell, Mein Kleiner Bruder = My smaller/younger/little brother, Vater = Father (in this poem, the father is Germania), Himmel = Heaven, Un kind = A child, Ich werde dich vermissen = I will miss you.

{{ This poem is also a front page pick on AllPoetry.com }}
Valentin Jun 22
Many bottles of Jack Daniel's
Are empty on this boat
He likes spending summer
With his friends on this boat

He can be wherever he wants to be
As long as the seas and oceans
Are part of his life
And this boat

He is always looking for this place
Where he could drop the anchor
Stay, live and die
With this boat

The Blue Planet is all his
All of the coasts are his
Today he is in Flensburg
Tomorrow probably still in Flensburg

He chooses
He decides
As long as he eats fish
And drink whiskey


I am wondering if this poem could have been any longer if this crazy old German guy would have not came and disturbed me.
06.21.19
The sirens will not wail here again,
the thunder of bombs not prevail.
The spectre of war has vanished,
forever, it is hoped in silent repetition,
where once was done its utmost bidding.

War has always lived fitfully,
in men's imaginations,
with promises of victory, fame, and glory:
the vanquishing of foes, the plundering of riches.

But here was known war's utter hell and consequence.
70,000 died in the last 10 days of April, 1945.
And in the wild ravages of death,
the city was destroyed - bombed to rubble,
and stripped to barren earth.

Yet in the center of the Tiergarten
stands the Siegessäule,
an antique monument
to victory in another age.
It now seems quaintly obsolete,
though outwardly still radiant, triumphant, golden.

Victory at what cost?
And who should suffer defeat?
Better now that tourists come, snap pictures,
and send them home in emails.

The Wall is a little more contemporary,
and easier to understand.
Keep people out, keep people in –
an impulse as old as stones and mortar,
that has never really changed.

Our modern lives have more walls than ever,
both hidden and apparent.
But this wall, so false and damaging,
could not forever stand.
A city, like a living thing,
cannot endure division from itself.
And so the wall came down.

Now tiny smart cars smartly zip, unnoticing,
over markers inset in the pavement
(Berlin Wall 1961-1989),
as if to symbolize the transformation,
and to say, "oh, we tried all that, it doesn't work."
A more enlightened age
is supposed to have arrived.

And perhaps, perhaps wishfully,
it has, and come here first,
in this old country, made wise by its failed hubris.

And now I realize that's what I like about it here.

For the first time in years,
I am in a city, and country, at peace.
Written in Fall 2004, last revised 2016.
Peter Balkus Mar 2018
I'm sure that you too,
at some point in your life,
had to give up on something
against your will,
and become the part of something
you never wanted to be.
I bet you too
were too beautiful, too fragile
to win and not to bend your knees
under the weight of coersion.

I'm pretty certain,
that wherever and whoever you are,
you too happened to be
a victim of smaller or bigger Anschluss,
when your life suddenly ended,
you woke up in the country,
which wasn't longer yours,
in the stranger's skin,
and when everything what was beautiful and frail in you
was killed.

But don't be sad,
for when the moment of the truth comes,
it won't be you
hurriedly swallowing
a cyanide pill.
The poem written for the anniversary of Anschluss. Eighty years ago, on the 12th of March 1938 Germany annected Austria. Anschluss - germ. annection.
Rah-Rah Jul 2017
I remeber long nights
With your plaid button downs
Always with the first button undone
And your white T-Shirt underneath always brightend the hazel in your eyes

Memories of Germany danced on your lips
How I wanted to taste them...
The longing still holds on the end of my tongue

Car rides were always needed
But I never minded sharing them with you
Conversations of endless nothings and you didn't know I was falling hoplessly in love with you.

You may not have had the blue eyes I dreamed of as a little girl
But they looked to me like how I looked at shooting stars
The dead of night always ran through your hair as my mind ran circles around itself chasing those cosmic wonders

And there may not be a sequence to this poem
But thats how you made me feel
Out of order
Maybe a little out of place
But when I looked to you, you knew of all the wishes I spent on those shooting stars
This was written at 3:36 am while missing someone I missed a chance on. I am open to any constructive criticism! :)
Vexren4000 Jun 2017
The aftermath of Great world wars,
Smoldering ruins of grand clocktowers,
Peppered with foreign bombs,
From different far off places,
Ghosts of war wander the wastes,
Searching for lost loves,
For homes no longer standing,
For places that scarcely resemble themselves,
From where lovers kissed and dreamed of far off places,
To the stores and homes of families,
Now turned into smoking rubble,
The remnants of our town,
The ruins of our memories,
Now echo through the empty streets,
Reminding us of a time,
When the city was alive.

©BAS
Laura Enright Apr 2017
the corner shop near the railway station
opens now unlike when we came here first
when everything would shut on Sunday

the flea market in Mauerpark
is over-ridden with people selling kitsch
but we always go and we love it

everyone is so cool here that I think being cool
isn't hip anymore,
the street is a sea of hipsters in black

it's early Spring and there is still
no ferries on the Spree
but if you walk down the right street

you'll catch a couple of musicians
maybe a juggling act  
that blend in with graffiti and art

in the evening we'll go to the TV Tower
like tourists
pretend we can afford dinner in the revolving restaurant

two hundred and three metres high
and look over the cars on the road to Berlin-Mitte
that look like graceful glowing bugs below

we'll get have a cocktail with dinner in Caramba
in the square (just one)
and listen to light German jazz

with no need to worry
if the transport still runs at night
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