They move in a trance,
fear-streaked faces crushing
the earth.
No one is ever the same again.
The downed poles buzz electric—
not with light,
but with the current
between life and death.
The city is no dance floor,
but buildings,
like dominoes, fall
in a crushing rhythm,
a cacophony of collapse.
A twist in the streets—
homes redrawn by mortal shells,
children lost in static chaos.
And there is a mirror:
a polished shard of shrapnel,
catching a soldier’s face
as if a butcher has sliced it open.
But the world sees through an obscure glass,
the images undefined.
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Author:
rrodriguez (
Offline) - Published: June 10th, 2025 21:03
- Category: Sad
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments3
It is the last metaphor of the mirror, the title of the poem that does give it meaning. The mirror is indeed obscure and hides the true causes of the tragedy. Lovely write.
I have been in a couple war zones shortly after the action... the wreckage of modern war is overwhelming to the senses. What it does to people, including the victor, is far worse.
Yes, the devastation is horrendous. I served in the US Army in Kuwait and in Bosnia. I understand... Thank you for reading my poem.
great write
Thank you!
most welcome
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