Flying over your house again
at the end of another long year.
There are loud explosions in the night.
We feel the concussions from a distance
And across time. So many crimes
of the heart. So many tales
Of two cities. This is a kind of history
too, of all the races we entered
And all the times we scratched.
Not a wish to live again, better.
They always figure out what happened.
And innocents, next door, die in their sleep.
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I like this a lot, especially the transition between the third and fourth stanzas. Nicely done!
thank you, M
Oh I read Syria in this text.. the darkness in your words so deep… and especially towards the end,,, which hits me in the gut.
thank you, B, for a great topic
cool how you weave the tale of two cities in and how you mix the surreal a bit in here as well
hi claudia, thank you.
A poem so current disguised in timelessness– wonderful! ~Jason
thank you, jason, it is what we try for
So many tales of two cities — a depthful poem which seems to be written making use of today’s news!
the best of times, the worst of times…ha….nice way of using that title…stunning close on this as well…
“Not a wish to love again, better.” Ray, this is beautiful.
thank you, marya
“This is a kind of history
too, of all the races we entered
And all the times we scratched.
Not a wish to live again, better.”
Love this.
thank you, kindly, Linda
There is not always clear rhyme in reason..but it rings true to be there If one looks deep enough…I think…
I think so, too, katie mia
The explosions, the concussions and specially the ending lines are just so sad ~ Good one Ray !
thank you 🙂
This was a small diamond, faceted with a bright intelligent and artistic ending.>KB
thanks, KB
remind me of the millions of innocent lives we lose daily to senseless killing and ignorance… powerful
You packed so much vivid reality into a brief poem. I felt anxiety and sorrow at the ending. Well written.
Ray, this is an immediate poem, it hits you in the gut. Well done on the brevity.
Pamela