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
"Achtung! Sie verlassen jetzt West Berlin."