Newtown

dana in sorrow.

 

 

 

Twelve girls, eight boys:

as asterisms go, with their star

shaped figures, transmitting light

 

from a doctrine that there is no

deity, no god of any breed. No

true human kind, apart from age

 

or bremsstrahlung, or love or

particles that produce such radiation, that

could fortold us of this test of

self and dimeter.

 

Words somehow makes the flower field,

swept by breezes, thrust the chest

against the air of youth, so true, as

 

a fire that burns loud in the delight of the

dead/brave are those who confront truth

when the effloresce, powdered crust

 

of tear and sorrow sells the lips off to

merchants or industry.War is men dying

as nothing shameful but with ribbon

 

and old combatants standing straight but little

children are the powdered young leaves

of sassafras we use to thicken the

 

comforting glow of bloom and bee as unknown

gardens contemplates this space:

 

first the benefice of love.

Then the fremitus of air angels as dew,

then the ornaments of loops

and grace.

Reviews

[Circe]

felt this..... so intensely... somethings shake us to the core and to believe, and love more.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, war is men dying...but wow, these are victims of another war...a war against insanity...and these soldiers were but 6 and 7 years old---barely out of the womb.

no weapons, just innocence.

a couple spots tripped me up a bit--but a beautiful piece...last stanza really gives closure to the read, even though it will be forever and the families of these children will never really get closure.

jacob

[writing mojo]

such sad tone chiming the atmosphere< I hope once again we may untangle from this sad fragility not forget, but shed light on the beings whom are not always luminescent accept when cast if the last memory of stars were things different..moving piece as always Dana your word DNA strands me..