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"Poetry is the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." Leonard Cohen

Sunday, October 12, 2014

WHEN, WHEN










Being this angry
is hypnotizing,
lets her be a machine
Lets her forget days
when lust ruled her heart
And flesh was  a tease
not the torture
it is now every night

Being this angry
makes her wish
she still drank
Sure that liquor
could chase the chickens
bent on scratching
her brain pan
clean of thoughts

When, she can't help
wondering, when
had they come
for the babies
Those in the
starched black uniforms
and boots high and heavy
Did they carry
them screaming
Like handfuls of love

Then dump them
onto the train,
the fast-moving,
non-stopping train
She smoothes
No-More-Tears lotion
into her hands
Trying to smell
her children long gone
She knows it's a gimmick,
she does
But it helps



8 comments:

  1. Oh! This is so sad. So beautifully sad.

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  2. Such a sad story.

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  3. It is sad when the children's gone even to start a new nest. Worst if under tragic circumstances! Nicely SE!

    Hank

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  4. This is tragedy...I wouldn't wish to anybody....~ the anger has to be dealt with, tense body can't survive....

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  5. Yes, beautifully heartbreaking write, Sharon.

    Pamela

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  6. Thanks all...all the words seem to lead my muse down sad paths these days; not sure exactly what that is, but it helps to put them down, it does...

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  7. This seems to me to come straight out of the Holocaust of World War II. It is good to remember where we came from, even when the memories hurt. They speak a more than valid word to our present day lives and the choices we are now making,

    Elizabeth
    PS very good writing

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