Holocaust.
Iron pipes that pierce the skyline.
Concrete, white against the blue.
Office blocks, now cold and empty,
No sun-streaked glass to mar the view.
Empty eyes that gaze unseeing
On a vista stark and bare.
No dogs to foul the empty pavements.
No birdsong on the morning air.
In an alley filled with rubble,
A rust encrusted laundry van,
Filled with shrouds, no longer needed
By the creatures they called man.
But hope is born, for time must pass.
In reformed tarmac, a blade of grass.
Irene C S ClarkHogg
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/holocaust-8/
