A memory of fire,
stone axe,
and tears
wants your arm
to extend itself
in a sweeping blow
from time to time.
Something
about the sight of tears
hinting red in the firelight
on another’s face
still makes some part of you
sing, and you could swear
there’s a flake of stone
in your shoe that cuts you
at every step.
Pain, war, grief, anger:
with all this killer memory
loose in you,
tearing you,
wounding you,
I wonder if you’ll still be alive
when it finally comes time
for you to die.
Dark Matter 
February 11th, 2012 at 11:42 am
you’re really back ! all the week-end to read all this…. it’s war 🙂
February 11th, 2012 at 12:27 pm
Thanks. I had a playful challenge with a friend that he had to post 10 poems on his blog before I’d post again. He, sadly, became very ill for a bit and was unable to write…but I honored the challenge. He’s fine now and started posting again…as have I.