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Where I am From

I am from muffled nights
white noise air
the comfort of an embrace

I am from two sounds
a swirl of words
incomprehensible
and sane

I am from echoing corridors
reverberating happiness
laughs slipping under doors
dreading goodbyes

I am from scribbles
scratches
splashes
splotching
and seeping ink
Intake of figures
shapes edges and all

I am from sound
plunks of piano keys
scratching violin
rippling guitar
bright ukulele

I am from awake
at times
peace
other times unknown
All times
dark

I am from arriving
an absence of belonging
adjusting
leaving
and repeating

I am from blurred scenery
disappearing roads
streaking trees
a setting sun

I am from cities
towns
cars
and the reprise
of more muffled
entrancing
nights
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  • 枫下拾英 / 笔耕枫下 / 女儿的短文系列--Ino +5
    • Where I am From +1
    • Charles Edward Clarke +1
      本文发表在 rolia.net 枫下论坛I am from beginning
      Charles Edward Clarke
      October 20,1897


      I am from scattered memories
      Of quiet streets
      The shoe shop where I worked
      The church where I believed


      I am from rising up
      Fighting
      For my country
      For God
      For better futures


      I am from letters
      A touch of reality from mother
      A bit of news on my sister and two brothers
      And replies
      In glossy details
      And feigned optimism


      I am from home
      A cake mother sent in a parcel
      Closing my eyes and trying to picture
      Her face


      I am from ruin
      Razed landscapes; once serene
      Mere skeletons; once sprouting life from its many fingers
      And bodies
      Glassy-eyed
      By the thousands


      I am from mud
      A layer of filth
      Anywhere
      Everywhere
      Versatile as dust


      I am from devastation
      Red rivers
      Cries
      Screams
      Burning
      Persistent haze
      A metallic tinge


      I am from my hiding place
      Behind the gun
      A barricade between me
      And those who fell at my hands


      I am from fear
      For my life
      For others
      Fear of tomorrow
      of nightmares
      And reality


      I am from friends
      Who called me “Deacon”
      Forced light-heartedness
      Making jokes to push away thinking


      I am from Vimy Ridge
      Victory a price
      One I and thousands of others paid


      I am from disappearing
      My facial features blurring together
      A mere receding memory


      I am from missing
      A life I could have lived
      A wife I could have loved
      A child I could have raised
      Instead
      Here I lie
      La Targette British Cemetery
      My body and story
      Fading to dust


      I am from an end
      19 years later
      May 4, 1917更多精彩文章及讨论,请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net