nickredinger

Bright rays shine upon a night sky,

Dark dusk which awaits a light,

But it never comes,

Liquid disappointment drowns the lungs

In blizzards of bombs and storms of sarin.

Poison in the bellies of the weak

The dirt comes again within a week

Bombs when we fall to our knees

Lead when the ground doesn’t meet our feet.

I don’t long for when I fall asleep for good

But maybe I should.

I don’t long for a flatline pulse

My beat has points and curves.

I only long for the pain to be over

When the bodies of the young will stop being covered,

When the cries of their mothers will stop being uttered

When the vulnerable have stopped being slaughtered.

The pain is mustard to the heart,

And to explain not knowing where to start

Is a wish for death, a poem, or piece of art.

Words only last so long.

My art does not belong.

I'm trying to keep strong.