Goya’s “The Third of May, 1808”

November 9, 2007
Why was I here?
Why was I subjected to this, violence and hate?
We had lived for the good of our country and did nothing but that,
Torn from our homes in mid night
Screams and yells split the darkness
cries from mothers, wives and children dragged from their rest,
whipped from the sheath and sliced through the silence
just as those five soldiers had done to me
I lay here at the feet of other men- like their catch of the day
I can still feel their cold hands clenching my body,
blood dripping from all wounds, like a lit candle
the last of us stands above-
the leader-now left to fall alongside his followers-
dust in the wind.

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