Saturday, November 24, 2007



Oradour-Sur-Glane

We slumber now,
lying in spidered embrace,
cradled in leafy shadow,
ash and oak.

Broken lovers,
blanketed in rust
and fields
gone feral sweet
with the heady scent of
lavender,
anise,
cordite,
and petrol.

We are pinioned here
by memories of cold pitted stone,
our hollow waiting eyes
as empty now as our names.

~Steve.M~
© 10/17/2007



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