Fragile Poem

Fragile


Held up by threads
of condensed air,
blue lungs convulse
from swallowing
yellow gases.
A boom descends on wilted hands
Battered heads
revolve in metal baskets
Glass bones splinter
then explode.
All are fragile cells:
pressured, we break.
Two ruthless wars
sunk their teeth into
our fabric, ripping out
seams with bulging, ghoulish eyes.
Plaid are poor souls,
whose colors bled deep feverish red.
When sharp arms descended,
sheared our souls in two.
From out the junk yard
Golden light seeps.
Heaped in this steamy
jungle,
tops of cathedrals,
empty swing sets,
jeweled crests
and TV sets.
Sitting atop the carnage
history books lie quietly,
pages torn from trembling leaves.
As hours pass,
Machines turn over blackened remains.
Night belongs here
to give ashen skin shelter
from the roaring sun.