Fragments

My last night at home was
The last night of my home.
I ran down scarlet streets
To the cacophony of death
As shell after shell ripped the earth.
My mothers eyes ran red
As her body watched me leave.
My fathers entrails
All that was left behind
To wave me off.

Author's Note

a fragment, unfinished

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i have a poet friend, Catherine Sasanov who wrote a book of poems called "demolitions"

and this reminds me much of her work...much about world war II....

the devastation of war...and not only literal war but that within families---the body still there, but the eyes vacant, the emotions blown away...

damn this really touches a nerve...has just enough to take us different places...all of them full of devastation.

j.

[GalaxyGhost]

I love the fact you use the word "cacophony". It's a cool word! Another word I love is onomatopoeia. It's a cool word to use for poems.
With your poem, it is short and almost like a murder mystery style. I'm not sure how else to describe the tensity I feel is in this poem.