Member Poem

1.

This smoke, this poison, it chokes
(nothing to be desired)
the hope buried beneath the roofs.  The few
that scurry through darkened streets drown
(in vaporous sea)
in blacks, blues, in blood.

A crying child is truth.  Bodies 
piled in alleys are real.  Hands
tremble, eyes dart to the shadows,
teeth clench,
"Are we really this helpless?"

2.

From the back, a careless toss
of dry soil to blanket the box stowed
beneath the earth.  The barren field is 
marred by grey stones that populate every
inch of dirt, like rabbits multiplying inside
this burning city.  My work is never done.

3.

Our hearts haven't flinched in years.