Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Poetry Year August 27th

Sleek lined forms, in rounded shadows,
cut and cast from silver into bronze,
in quest of Nazi gold.

Arms beyond stretched that to horizon extend,
like the empire they would encompass so soon.

So much flesh and blood,
so hard the flesh and stone,
a hacked cross their banner,
and bright their thousand year future called.

Olympia, filmed in grace,
touched by that sacred innocence,
that only evil can no.
Unlined by conscience,
blared forth in trumpets,
and blazoned in blood.

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