PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Certain moments transcend calendars and clocks;

and are conveyed across the world by, perhaps the J-Waves:

and some are even, candidly, terrible,

bringing sorrow and trepidation upon the soul,

sorrow and trepidation expressed in full.

This one---this chilling one---must also be the

same; you feel it, Poet, in Alexandria,

on the way to or from the Irrigation Offices

and the pile of many pages of your work.

The moment yanks your soul with a savage jerk,

and you wonder, feeling ill, what it was:

an adolescent boy, Alexei, murdered by Bolshevik thugs,

his slender body riddled by multiple lead slugs.

He was clad in a peasant's shirt and trousers, and fawn-gray socks.

After the murderer's committed their abuse

of his corpse and his dog's, they found, upstairs, his shoes:

Alexei and his family slain, to satisfy "Comrade" Lenin's lust

for vengeance, and his bloodthirsty mood's

crimson rage.  See, you can never fully trust

a bulbous headed lawyer spouting Marxist platitudes

and the power over proletariat knaves. 

Starward