Meet me in the courtyard where the blood no longer flows

You and I sipping tea

wrought iron stylish in ancient design

umbrella faded to blue just so

violet clematis

climbing

reaching

divine

but hiding sins etched in walls

which leaves us sacred in our time

 

bodies marched out lined up

backs against the brick

against the wall

so to speak

confessional sins

then onward to die

ready…

aim…

the anxious burn before the fire…

wall too high for them to climb

still they try

leaving nails of desperate death behind

 

 

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Filed under: Poetry Tagged: death, desperation, execution, history, memory, murder, poems, poetry, renewal, sin, time, writing