Page 22

Move your cursor over the image above to zoom.

“Fur Kriegsgefangenen” (Oct ’44)

Flat sand-blown flats echo;
With mounting clouds that curl away
And streams that even blow
Over against and empty town
Bearing our breathed air to flay
The segmented pines

Bug-like huts in sequence
Reprehend sequestered walks
With septic barbs of wired fence
That shadow on the walls of mind
Vivid as the wraith that stalks
In paths of yesterday.

The scarecrow flicker of the life
In the bones of ragged men
Beating with that blunted knife
That limbo shadows know is hope
Upon the concrete door, the den
Of memories tranquility

There is a secret that is told
To us on vermin trap and board
We who feel a night that’s cold
We who have our fancies stored
We who have the time to hear

Like dew upon a misty blade
Temporal jewels of the dawn
That melt and leave the eye afraid
That such apparent beauty can adorn
A bleak perpetual sepulchre


Comments are closed.