Friday, May 3, 2013

Voices in the devastation

Voices rise and bubble amid
the devastation, singing
a ribald song on the streets
of Dresden, still burning.
Voices rise to the woods,
seeking refuge from the flames,
bubbling like popped blisters.

After the funerals, after
the death sentences, after
the trials and arrests come
the rejoicings, necessary
if not sufficient acts to atone,
if only partially, small twigs,
barely green, barely twigs.

He walked in the forest
of his heart, and found
he was lost, the path
vanishing like smoke
snaking to a dark sky, or
disguised by fallen leaves
blackened in silence.

Photograph: Autumn Fire by Mark Coldren via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.


Doug Spurling said...

at first I thought you and those trees in the backyard--you know, the ones you've been taling to--got into a heated debate.

Martha Jane Orlando said...

Powerful imagery and message, my friend. My, how you can write!!!
Blessings, Glynn!