Slain promise, blossoming
but not yet in full flowering
when torn and trampled,
one of the tens of millions
whose decades were stolen
with lead, gas and fire,
all that was to come
unmade, dreaming brains dead
matter a in cooling corpse,
their tongues silent, their
eyes unseeing, their fingers
unmoving that touched
lover's skin and held a pen
composing love letters,
poems, grocery lists, songs,
birthday greetings, last
messages expecting death,
waiting death, as now,
as now, each day now
all that was to come
unmade, in the youth
whose promise will never
be but promise, withering
in the grave, you die again.
09.06.2025
Verse Poetry Poems Poem
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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