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Sunday, July 3, 2011

'Holocaust' : Poem for Today

Holocaust
Purple-beaded sweat
that comes in erratic convulsion
from the brow of the dying, green-eyed man,
is falling, falling, falling,
faster now he’s dying, to my feet.
Inside my inner soul
I can feel that self-made expression
crawling outward to
my extrovert caricature;
defiantly seeping to the surface of my world
and that in the silent grey of cosmic dust
and my flesh falls from me in one clean slash.
and there is no stench of death
and there is no tomorrow
Only the soft sounds of the sighing winds,
as they look back in sorrowing anger,
towards yesterday.
© Colin Gordon-Farleigh

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