Every night a screaming siren.
A crimson sky of blazing phosphor.
Outside, a wren makes her nest.
Over blackened rubble and cold bodies.
Still waiting for the new world order.
Spirals of white lightning
Every night a screaming siren.
A crimson sky of blazing phosphor.
Outside, a wren makes her nest.
Over blackened rubble and cold bodies.
Still waiting for the new world order.
how lovely – was this poem inspired by the photo?
sincerely,
David
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