Amanda

Amanda,
I thought your loss was horrendous, as an eye glimpsing war through a prism, a safe distance, detached and far away.

Where I stood, the bombs seemed like deaf children frantically signing with their noiseless hands upon the streets of an obscure, idle freedom, where I tried desperately to speak to you, fumblingly reaching out, like a blind man fending off a swarm of callous wasp.

Amanda,
You wouldn’t hear me, you couldn’t see me, but I was there, screaming for you to live, my tongue was as thick as the pavement I stood on, and my feet, as heavy.

My frantic cries were an unspoken plea to the men with their hands on the lever, to the heartless, the sightless warrior, the squatting powers and bending earth, to an unleashed evil where noise breathes like the cold-blooded machinery of ruin.

© 2008 mrp/tpm