A village unrecognizable in its’ stillness
Shadows where buildings once stood
A child’s haunted eyes peer out of a crate made window
Sitting motionless, searching with melancholy anticipation
Possibilities of peace reduced to rubble
A boy, drifting on a dust filled road, tumbles to his knees
Tag: political
Hurt, Poetry by Ed N
Scattered pieces of white paper, your dossier no longer neatly organized on your desk: it took you years,
years to figure it out
and your standing there,
looking at your desk, looking at the snow globe shattered, the snowman smiling as it lies with its head in a pool, like a Mexican man passed out on the gutter:
You look at the documents on the floor,
then at your desk,
WILDsound Festival 