Names of those we
will never know,
ghosts of an
awful past,
towers filled with smoke from their bodies,
and the sky polluted with ash.
Milk and bread,
the supper I was fed,
water I desired.
Yet through the rain
the kiss of death sang
a song of
blood and fire.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback