Bible Is The Womb

Inside I only hear lost voices

Taste buds of the tongue

And burnt sensations at fingertips

Healed now

Forgotten cries and howls

Daughters lost and stolen

Sons sent for battle to fight

Gone now

Her new spring dress bleached

Stained from the power struggle

Laughter kept away

Hidden from yesterday’s children

The trees now sway

Without a trace of wind

The rain soaks up the ground

And the dead rise from the earth

You are not sad today

Just remembering the horror

Of airplane dreams

And truth of today’s news

© 2001 David Greg Harth

01.05.23.17:43:00@GUGGENHEIMMUSEUMNYC