“Move along” as the beige uniforms shouted,
the moon was raided with life ending sparks,
deafening voices and fusillades,
slowly bringing the living night down.
some here the church bell go…
One and two – the shots hit the core.
while poor fellow die hugging the defense,
they reminisce the last bit of the light.
I remember them so preen and well
twin girls, barely six —
utterly pretty with their mother’s mix.
Posy and Pine what they were called
laid with unknowing ruby eyes
as Cynthia filled their little ears,
with precise pocket full of lies.
“Look right there! Do you see twinkles?”
They jump up preening at the moon
“the old rich man’ll light it all out
until you sleep real sound”
“There lies another world where
folks are bold, to engulf the
night in this freezing cold.”
“We, to poor, to own our fate,
look at us staying up so late.
You know we should be moving –
to the far off fields where the wheat is gold,
where we’ll grow up in different folds.
But this is where we need
to stitch and sell, to live in
till the world ends!”
“Oh yes, Cynthia we’ll stitch and sell”
said posy with a kiss so frail.
And it finally darkened, with
undistinguishable sky and sea,
the two slept a sound sleep –
as their breaths were caught up
by steady burning bricks;
while the house gleamed golden
with shrill cry of painful leap,
the old man indeed light it all
in vast colossal heaps!