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Injured


I heard you speaking,

Simply, less ambiguous words

And with an African old man wisdom

Twist of shellfire, sniper’s sight

And I feared, and wanted more

Then I wept

I’d wept before you spoke,

Didn’t hear a word you said

Tears of myself and life’s unforthcoming

But now dear friend of sinners!

How can this happen to a girl?

It happens yes through the choices we make

The gentlest of souls, it seems

Can be brutal to what is otherwise young, innocent and free.

And finer, purer things of flesh and blood succumb to powder blast and fractured steel

I ask myself now, how can it be

You slow, after rains, clear voice

My tearful pettiness

Blended  in some grand celestial economy

Where soggy and rust aggravate the killer’s knack

Where triumph becomes, not steel, but a soft heart?

Credit:

Art by Anna Parini

 

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