The Forty Eight

Yellow mustards, standing still
and silent. On top of the misty, unimportant
hill, kissing and caressing in the night.
Under the limelight, soothing blues and jazz.
Deaf children are humming, swaying their
native swastika firmly on the flag, hush! hush!
Indigo oceans swim in naïve eyes, long
lost memories wallow in harbouring resentments…
Shield the quiet from these ears, hear
nothing but the cold, uncensored hardships I have wrought.
Sand me down, saw me out to the hiss, hiss
hiss of the crunching drum! And there –
kill the grey, writhing Pains washed out
with salt and time. Only then will the black
boot kick the forgotten doll back on the bed;
I can only find release.
Never will i not forget these shiny lessons,
keep to the light
and the trees with both
the birds and the bees.
Tick tock, the letters reveal only when
you want Me to tell you the truth, but no
- only more lies.
Evermore lies.