An Old Church Bell Steeple Poem by Leaking Pen

An old church bell steeple-in Medellin, Columbia
Suddenly leaning to the left
Lost its centre from last night's random bazooka shells
Confused not knowing-the bell that is-whether to stay, hop or drop
Like native hearts being jolted on a daily basis with guilt for being alive.
Piece by piece the steeple masonry cement lines came untied and unglued
From the plaster cracking away like folding memories.

Four columns holding the steeple of Saint Paulo
The east ones missing a chunk of their soul
Gave in to last night's dark mistress bazooka shell
The west ones holding the steeple together
Faithfully, resolute still like devoted nuns of the Carmelites
Carrying the extra load in silence, and obedience, their oath!

The eyes of the steeple are full with worries
Shielded from their previous horizon
Of innocent lush green mountaintops
Glorious mornings, fatherly sunrise embraces
And gentle rocking motherly sunsets.

With their new coordinates
Gazing downwards instead,
Like fenced sheep on the devil's landscape
A new reality emerges of sights, smells and sounds
Sight of red stained pavements
Memories of those forgotten by time
Except by mothers veiled in black satin
Kneeling down to kiss the spot where their children had fallen
Their lips sealed shut in silence protest
Their hearts ripped open from pain
The smell of fowl order engaged to the winds
Blessing every one with the perfume of death!

Mules pulling broken wooden carts
On narrow winding coble stones corridors
Sounds of whips whipping
Sounds of chains grinding
Sounds of fatigued souls folding.
Merchants dragging their hopes behind
And guns loaded trigger-happy angry youth following…

You might wonder what happened next?
Where is the end to my plot?
Sadly to say, I write from a safe secure loving home.
But how can I find the right words to explain?
Death of a poet and poetry itself
And mourning of all grieving mothers…
I honestly can't...

August 24th 2011
Copyright Leaking Pen 1970's series