Scabs protect the brick’s tracks on your face,
Our comfort is wasted on your shattered dreams,
For broken hope has has no shelter like flesh.
Rips, tears, bruises are no match for flesh,
Smiles, frowns, kisses will return to your face,
Yet, slow, aching, scarred will remain your dreams.
Freedom and safety bloodily drip off your dreams.
The revolution’s lonely fruit is damaged flesh,
and sorrow which grimaces behind your face.
We can only dab your face, mourn your dreams and hug your flesh.
- Author: Sabio Lantz, 9/1/12
- Form: A Tritina
- Notes: in memory of a friend (a Pakistani University professor), beaten by police for speaking out
- Prompt: dVerse