skull_bearer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skull_bearer) wrote2009-03-04 11:57 pm
skull_bearer) wrote2009-03-04 11:57 pm
Entry tags:
Note for the future:
Going to the Holocaust section of the Imperial War Museum while having a psychic day has been established as a bad idea, will add to this 'going ANYWHERE near the Reichstag eagle in the basement on a psychic day'. It's not as nasty as the Holocaust section, it's just... noisy. And doesn't like being kept in a basement.
Anyway, here's poetry Mirek's written during internet shutdown:
A Poem Written in Chalk
If by this stone my father sleeps
And lives were droped like autumn rain,
If this is where my mother weeps
And many others did the same,
If those I lost died here indeed
Why then these words will not be lost;
The dying grass shall spread its seed
And life will bloom despite the frost,
But if this stone has never caught
The blood of friends and those I loved;
Then let this land be sown with salt,
The sun to die, the sky to fold,
The world turn black with bitter song:
For they are dead, their names are gone.
Sometimes I swear my characters are better poets than I am.
Anyway, here's poetry Mirek's written during internet shutdown:
A Poem Written in Chalk
If by this stone my father sleeps
And lives were droped like autumn rain,
If this is where my mother weeps
And many others did the same,
If those I lost died here indeed
Why then these words will not be lost;
The dying grass shall spread its seed
And life will bloom despite the frost,
But if this stone has never caught
The blood of friends and those I loved;
Then let this land be sown with salt,
The sun to die, the sky to fold,
The world turn black with bitter song:
For they are dead, their names are gone.
Sometimes I swear my characters are better poets than I am.
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Perhaps it's time to listen to Gorecki's 3rd symphony again :o(
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