The past unfolds like a map
riddled across their anguished faces.
My body aches
with the burden of knowledge and yearning,
simultaneously tugging at my innards.
I want to act as a beacon in the gloom
and somehow, impossibly
delay their impending fate.
But the night will trudge on,
the ship will still sink.
Some say time heals these wounds;
but just the opposite-
forever their screams will resound,
crying out in ten different languages
soon to be consumed
by their broken reflections.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem