In Nagasaki Poem by Gert Strydom
In Nagasaki
When the sun fell from the sky,
dropping as something man made
from a high flying thing
the eye can no longer see them
where they were,
but their shadows are burnt
right into concrete
and linger as dark cold impressions
of men, women, children
and some animals
as only ghosts
of living vibrant beings
that are forever looking on
from their anonymity.
Friday, March 25, 2011
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4/26/2024 9:00:13 AM # 1.0.0.1119
