Avenues
Of bitter stone
Roll like tears
Without a home
A haunted dream
With many steps
A portrait
Of memories kept.
Refugees
Of a past
Walk each road
A bitter quest
Room to room
As rubble lay
In torment of
The final day.
Eight lines in
The poet screams
Can the horror
Be so real ?
Hopes now smoke
In rising plumes
Worship the day
For night it looms.