Hanging days long gone
Dreadful images of the little ones
Who know the history
Of darker days
But force their smiles
And learn early
When it can do some good
That much worth having
Has been made of wood
And the remembrance of marble, shale, and steel
But were never real
For it is only the malleable
That can be shaped and held
Or the words and melodies
Which we sing and meld
And in those last moments
With an accounting of all
The icons finally fold away their designer nails
And in that moment when forgiveness is sought
Soul’s last insult is finally wrought
And the story once told of what is right
Is left forever in the dark of night.
Frank P. Whyte Poetry
Want to review or comment on this
Click here to login!
Need a FREE Reader Membership?
Click here for your Membership!
|Reviewed by Cryssa C
|I am not sure I completely understand your poem, but it seems to be quite metaphorical and in some instances maybe even allegorical. It has a somber tone and left me feeling that there are so many sad injustices in this world...and a feeling of subdued melancholy for all that is lost.