Poem for Hour Five

                        What Should Stay Buried


        Time caught in a capsule. Sorrow there
                                  or joy as you imagine opening it up?
                 Perhaps, better, if you put it back. To not know 
                              what was left behind.

                             a man and woman so young then. Babies
       not yet born. The woman not yet asleep in another man’s bed. Pearl
                     as they called it not yet bombed. Beirut, when it was
          the Paris of the Middle East. The young ones, brown-skinned, before
                          the top hats and whale-bone dresses before

                  the burials, before the bulldozers broke what marked
                                                            the graves.
Before the churches burned, before Christ turned his back,
                                          before anger’s black smoke
                               tore down everything and ripped words
                                        from cindered throats. 
       Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.Before.

18 thoughts on “Poem for Hour Five

  1. Stunning. Simply stunning. This mosaic of lives trapped in the moment before time moved on. Before destruction. Loss. Betrayal. Death. Better not opened – but collapsing into a dark galaxy of experiences when we see ‘what was left behind.’ I’m gobsmacked. Stunning. I’ll say it again – because this poem is exactly that.

  2. So much contained with such little space – like a time capsule itself. A powerhouse of a poem. Incredible that you produced it like this in such short time. Kudos and gratitude.

    1. Thanks for bringing me back to this page and the poem Wendie. Had already let its impact fade! Yikes. And you in precambrian shield country! I hope I make it back before I leave the planet.

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