true. the road to hell.

 

 

 

The road to hell ?

paved with uncounted blessings.

these things that come to me in dreams, by pd lyons

we came upon them by stealth
a group of children play with sticks and  rags like flags
a half dozen ponies hobbled in high grass
a thin trail of smoke rises through cold air like a prayer
and we antitheses of blessings readied our weapons

I saw her
silent to death
her child
no more than four
open
ribbons before
her

burning
anger
bullet
met
that moment stopped in violence
never ends

from “the bluebook poems” ruff