Occasions · Scripts

The Village

She  sat down on the cobblestone street warmed by sweat and sun,

Mud crusted toes and tattered clothes.

How did this happen to their beautiful village?

She wanted to get up,

She longed to rest her feet on the bench that was no longer there.

Trampled ground that held exhausted people.

Stopping her thoughts as she took in the scene,

A sample of what their life had meant still clung to the outline of homes and shops.

Smiling, holding hands, kissing someone they loved.

This is the nightmare that haunts her dreams of darkness.

Melted memories of history is her daytime.

How to rebuild, how to start over is real.

She returns to her grave as the night air, cold and damp, seeps in to her tomb.


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