Empty buildings mixed in with the new,

their gray facades charred black from the bombs.

Bullet holes in the side of a church

and adorning the chest of a statue of Christ.

I still see the scars

in the once-divided city,

trying to become whole again

now that no wall keeps it in pieces.

But the marks are still there,

there for eternity,

a constant reminder of what was,

and what became of it,

and what must never again occur,

and what we’re created from the ruins,

piecing back together our lives

after bombs and walls and turbulence

shattered them into many fragments

and threw them to the wind,

and all that was left to remember

who we were,

where we were,

was a sign

that said,

“Achtung! Sie verlassen jetzt West Berlin.”