Start of a new day,
Feeling like a stray,
Still mourning after,
No sense of next chapter,
Scheduled for more sorrow,
Until I’m drained
Of life itself,
Only then will be true farewell.
Wailing for their men,
Weeping widows in a row
Sorrow, no solace.
Hard fought wars in vain;
History keeps repeating
Our eternal sigh.
[In memory of 9/11]
A series of dire events . . .
Among the rubble
Heaps of bloodied flesh
Remembering the sorrow
Hope for tomorrow . . .
The tea set sits neglected due to the protracted absence of guests at a posh residence, where visitors today are rare. No one dares to visit for word that it houses the ghost of a once-famous TV host known to serve tea during the wee hours between 1:00 and 3:00 AM, leaving a sensation of chill and sorrow in the air. Only empty cups, unfilled for the unfulfilled.
[Prose composed of David Bowie’s songs.]
Ashes to Ashes, my Heroes, Major Tom, Ziggy Stardust, and Halloween Jack, will no longer be Dancing in the Street. The Man Who Sold the World deserves more Golden Years. I want to Scream Like a Baby. I feel like a Panic in Detroit Without You, Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud. You who defended China Girl and built a Suffragette City with Diamond Dogs Looking for Water. I’m Deranged, Little Wonder. Let’s Dance to Fame and the Young Americans. I can Rebel Rebel all I want but you won’t rise like Lazarus. I will have to make Changes. I shall not lean on the Weeping Wall and wallow in Sorrow. From Across the Universe, can you see if there is Life on Mars? Can You Hear Me? You’ll make a great New Killer Star, the Prettiest Star. I shall Move On to look for another Modern Love.
Picture perfect fun,
Broad brushed by extreme hatred.
Still life in real life.
Sorrowing old man (“At Eternity’s Gate”)
Vincent van Gogh [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
©2015 Karina Pinella
They stole in, black clad with hearts equally dark.
From different corners of the City of Love—transformed into another level
Of Dante’s vision of hell.
Mute soldiers of hate articulated by AK47s
Brainwashed with false promises of Eden
If they do what ISIS has bidden.
Man, woman, child,
Humanity dressed in full sorrow
Too painful to face tomorrow.
Friday night’s fallout
Will always be remembered as the day
The light went out.
©2015 Karina Pinella