The Kiln

Posted: October 14, 2015 in Poetry

The alarms had cried wolf
in the past of the city of art.
War waged on the outskirts,
but inside the warm cheers
were for circus men.

Merry songs were drowned out by the sirens.
The sirens sang a horror line,
but joy burned fear.
Then the dark heat came.
With blasts so stark to peaceful town-
jitters and titters changed into screaming.

Doves- phoenixes, shattered glass, crying,
wailing, sulfur cast ruled the air
and broken ground.
People were trapped in the tar cauldron.
Merciless British heaped hellfire on civilians.
Evil Nazis screamed in fear.
Children, orphans. Mothers, childless.
Dead families. Broken ones gathered on the dump, but
the second wave would melt them too.

Royals, chin up.
It is Winston Churchill’s porcelain cup.

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