#72

Guns, Nuclear Bombs, Mushroom cloud, explosion

Fire, flame, shrapnel, a violent brain erosion.

Let it go, walk away.

There’s music, peaceful music on the other side of this smoke gray.

If I can float out of this destruction and sharpness,

I know there are happy fields, hills, and mountains, on the other side,

In a land where life does not have to hide, to stay alive, to stay free,

To stay whole,

Now I’m at the debris, but perhaps not for long,

Soon beauty’s what I’ll see on the other side.

Blind Poet, August 31, 2004