Poem: Refugees

 

Refugees

 

in the lost gardens,

petals fluttered to weave rosaries.

no one dared gaze on the fretful stars,

those pigments of bone.

 

we trekked among tumbled bricks 

which lacked a hearth,

and boiled the bark of broken trees to chew.

chokeberry dyed our tongues.

 

our tired legs 

slugged it out with the misshapen ground,

not so heavy, not yet, as the tank treads.

our uneasy footsteps sidled 

when we came upon a pit, 

and saw so many tangled corpses

immune to terror, agony, hunger, grief, despair, rage, pain

and dysentery.

 

no rest, anywhere, for our thousands of eyes 

which were no longer ripe with tears.  

why cry or rest or sleep 

unless commanded by a final sun? 

why scavenge for useless dreams 

under the scythe of the moon?

 

nothing left but stains

of hope, blood and salt,

all passion sucked away 

by dead relatives and uprooted homes,

we stumbled upon a fence--

 

and beheld a realm of green 

where war had no name.  

 

the well-fed ones there

offered a welcome of wealthy words

while, even as they smiled, 

they fastened more and more locks

on the gilded gates.

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10/2/25 ... eds ... awful poem, tried to fix,