DocAndersen
The small change
it seems funny to hear
the wind blowing
not from the wind now.
The eyes see
but the heart
sees as well.
I find myself confused
torn by strips of
barbed wire
and screaming
with the welling
blood.
The trees
whisper
as I stand
alone.
What do trees whisper
sad news
of fallen brothers
and of lives ending.
The sing of fires
and of moments that pass.
As I stand there
blood welling.
I am alone.
Sometimes the loss that causes sorrow also presents beauty like this poem, and also fortitude to be grateful for the beauty of life.
Very nice poem! Keep it up!
Thank you as always Gina!