When Our Monuments Burn

Fire-dwarfed we all sit,

stand, wait,

drawing along timelines

scythe-eyed for news

or perhaps revelation

that this is all

just a dream, a joke.


Dust-tongued our words

dry up like sand

through an hour glass.

All gone and past

leaving only empty air.

A promise

cracked apart.


History pour out,

breaks the damn of grief

and dark-vowelled words,

replacing now with then

as what will be

already spread its roots

in the tear-culled.






      1. For about a month I was helping my elderly parents move. Not exactly “enjoyable” but it’s nice to have them in safe housing nearby. I got home yesterday, and it was great to start visiting blogs again. 😀


  1. /all gone and past, leaving only empty air/–nice. I, too, worked with the burning of Notre Dame. Amazing to read so many different takes on the DT compound words.


  2. You’ve captured the stunned atmosphere of yesterday evening in this poem, Carol – fire-dwarfed and scythe-eyed fit perfectly, and ‘leaving only empty air’ made me gasp.


  3. I think one does feel fire-dwarfed. There is a feeling of helplessness as this huge historical landmark crumbles. There is definitely a shift from then to now.


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