Yet More Writings From Dresden

Today was sorta "not good", so forgive these for being kind of dark. Not angsty! Just...not as light as I usually write

If recognized--
That impenetrable cloud
Of Fate and War, the far-
Off crying of horses
And the heat of
The men. Close now.
Yet to take the depth of it,
The True Center, around
Which any
Battle may
But any Northern Point
And the reality of it.
O, if each doorway was simply
Some palace of imagining, and I could
I would!
Believe me, I would.
And within this, there
You lie, only if the bayonets
Charging finally arrived at you,
Then where
Does it leave

Robert E. Lee
Understood truth, and then: a
Man above reproach!
Ah, a man, as he--yes,
But I would prefer if the General
Were not the One,
Staring out opposite
I argued the South to him.
Not Lee. Then, not exactly.
Such faint hopes
For it, you let the Dove
Fly out into Some Gale, a
Little pinpoint
Quickly turning
Why--it matters when it does
Not, really, it may
All those quiet moments
When the World was full of
Confederate Generals
Instead of

What tragedy--
In rare and apologetic
Successors of Fascism...
There is a difference:
Between some educated leader and
Embracing that doctrine. It is
Not me.
I cannot accept it.
But it is offensive and that
Word has become a State of Being.
When you in
You Messerschmidt
Beauty and all that it
I am in a Dresden
Frame of Mind.
Today, at least

Once when I lived
In a world empty of justification--
Steps taken
Back to whether love
Remains in fear or whether
Sometimes, it makes perfect
He opened those doors.
For better or worse. And
Not it is left to me to
Go thru' with it all.
And it is justification.
He, in that capacity, wondering
In matters of race or
Why one brand of Evil
Is accepted and
Dresden is buried back
Among the faint triumphs of

In echoes of ragged metal
That remaining is
True, that what can be
(must be)
considered Beautiful
Rarely ever is.
In humanity---
In Italian downfalls or
The tragedy of Germanic
Why the world would
Disallow something such
As you.
Rare enough to contain
The promise of a while
New set of ideals.
Whether it was only the
Light off the parked cars
Or the ruined streets
Of some hidden

Watching him spread
Watery syrup over melted
Butter and that offending
Scent again.
Mixed in ash
And the twisted
All I am allowed to see
Is you, in his hands
Cutting thru' his dollar-
Fifty breakfast plate,
And sobbing
Over Dresden,
Over flags and every
Injustice committed
He smiles at me, but
It is only Dresden and you.
I turn my face

A/N: My next set will be a bit was just kind of bad. Look out for more Dresden writings!!