They live
under a criminal shadow
they, who
walk past their own children
never
teaching them the love,
never
rehearsing with them
the surreal
notes of river(y) pain,
never wanting
to produce babies.
With sore
hands who build the walls,
under a
thousand moons
who cannot
cry like a girl,
for a pinch
of salty silence
who cannot
desensitize the echoes
They live
under a criminal shadow.
The fields
of such stoned men
deserve a better
farewell,
but there
are no shaky hands
to company
the funeral.
The children
ask for their doom
they are
granted their wishes,
whatsoever.
2 comments:
This is chilling .... loved it !!!
Freud keeps his date with Wilfred Owen under the shadow of these words! And, alas, between the desire and the spasm, falls the 'criminal shadow'!
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