Bloody Sunday 




The blood came first, the struggle later.

I choose a lizard with a curly tongue

It sang a silly song

Of forgotten times

And things best left to the past.

My parents watched distractedly,

Blowing on cold hands,

Oblivious to the beasts

Coming stealthily to life.

They smelled the blood on my knees,

The tear in my heart.

I tried to escape,

But my parents yelled

They left me to the beasts

Going on and on

Round and round

Till at last the music died

And my battle was fought.

In tears I looked up

And saw I had been right:

Light bled on the city

To mourn my stolen pride.


11:31 Gepost door Paule in Algemeen | Permalink | Commentaren (0) | Tags: photo stories |  Facebook |

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