If words had been said
To be present, not absent,
A world might have felt heart-warmed.
It’s like a long nightmare that says:
It won’t be over tomorrow,
The jail is still here,
To stay while people walk free
And too busy.
Taking selfies with a living star,
But with-out time.
Sirens go by, sunglasses and dark coats.
They hit on the prisoner
While queuing for blessings.
The ground has waves,
Seen while looking at feet.
Nobody gets away with whatever
For long many lives
And not cry too.
Cry for them instead
While good inside you can’t see
Carries you to laugh with them.
Buds on the castle bushes,
The walls are getting old.
So are we, praying to forget
White hair Europe’s gone wars and dead
Living again in other more sad news.
What snaps goes to fix what’s broken,
Slowly, with time and shelter, breathing.