Posted by Susan47 on April 3, 2005, at 9:58:59
This is not writing, it's just out there because it needs to be. None of what I do is writing; it ends up in broken lines because it feels right, to me. This was my dream last night, and the reality ...
Bodies, broken bodies were
everywhere.
You tripped on them,
if you weren't looking.
And it was hard to keep looking.
Almost impossible.Except that, you had to make sure
that one of the bodies
wasn't your own child.
I left my child, safely tucked
away somewhere upstairs
my little boy,
my blond little son,
my little magnet.But he may not be there anymore.
I must check
and on the way there,
I must look for my husband,
and be aware of the buses and vans
and trucks full of shrouded
bodies, always coming through,
coming through ...the only bodies that
you can see, the dead eyes,
slack mouths,
they're all strange ...
thank you
entity who does not exist,
thank you for nothing.The enemy, who I live with,
bayonet always at my back,
threatening to pierce my heart
the enemy is everywhere
they even climb the trees
in the forest, now, looking for us.We, who run away, who can no longer
stomach this existence, we who never could.
There are very few of us, now.
The enemy is chewing away at itself.
Any excuse will do, now, any excuse
to create another body for burial ...But they must leave some of us
to perform the chore
some of us must be made to survive
the strongest must do the burying,
the mourning, the weeping must all
be done in private.
Or not at all.Nowhere is safe.
Just before I wake,
I find myself, in this body,
sitting in the library
a presence walks silently by.
I look up.
I see brown, silky hair,
the shape of the head, the body,
it's all there, and I feel
comforted. Because spirit exists.
poster:Susan47
thread:479241
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20050321/msgs/479241.html