History
is on display:
can you hear
the laughter?
Can you see
the fear?
When
will we
eat again;
will the
boys
get prettier
this year?
Children
lived
and died
here;
wind
crawled through
the chinked
log walls
and ate
their fragile skin.
Children
played
and worked
here;
they're echoes
in the
laughing
crying
stone.
This morbid bit of poetry was brought to you by the imaginary garden with real toads, thoughts of ghosts, and the following images (which I got from the aforementioned imaginary garden, so mentioning them is something of a double tap but whatevs).
is on display:
can you hear
the laughter?
Can you see
the fear?
When
will we
eat again;
will the
boys
get prettier
this year?
Children
lived
and died
here;
wind
crawled through
the chinked
log walls
and ate
their fragile skin.
Children
played
and worked
here;
they're echoes
in the
laughing
crying
stone.
This morbid bit of poetry was brought to you by the imaginary garden with real toads, thoughts of ghosts, and the following images (which I got from the aforementioned imaginary garden, so mentioning them is something of a double tap but whatevs).
History on display and laughing makes my hair stand on end... Not so much because of the dead implication, but because I wouldn't stop wondering what she's laughing about.
ReplyDeletePowerful and uncanny!
I really like that. We visited a couple of museums last week, and one of them made me feel a bit like that.
ReplyDelete