When this is all over
I will cry in tears the most
as I start to get lost again
on the intricacies of this old city
or in the web of strings
that connects our wounds
to past wounds buried deep
beneath the rubble
that was once our past mistakes.
Living in old details mean
restarting is the only
option.
When this is all over,
I will expect the headaches
from my eyes adjusting
to the tint of my
rose-colored glasses
I will wear again---
though I will not falter.
Living in ruins mean
rebuilding the walls do not need
seeing the ashen bricks
in full color.
Like everyone else,
I will not mind the danger
of returning to the capital
even if its on the foot
of Mt. Vesuvius.
Blind loyalty is a maze
with no exits
just aesthetic hazards
we advertise as historical
tourist attractions,
for living in old details
mean restarting is
the only option.
YOU ARE READING
Live
PoetryOur hearts are brave as fire, minds gentle as earth, dreams are fluid as water, and our souls are as free as the wind. (Poetry and Prose) #2 of the end-live-begin trilogy.
