my grief

The sound of violence rang loud.
In its wake, dead silence,
Broken only by sobs and soft condolence,
Joyful homes broken by menace,
Neighbourly love scattered by vengence,
Shuttered is the world we knew.

Sour are the sights, beauty torn away,
The stench of death thick in the air,
Nausea and nostalgia flood the heart,
Deep are the wounds we cut,
Smoke smoulders from homes burnt,
The fog dulls the future,
I wonder if we are too late,
To mend mistakes of mean haste.

 ©davyvivaldi 2012