A violent scenery
unfolding on the evening sky,
as if I were in a play
waiting for act one tonight,
red lines like fresh scars
cut into white flesh,
black clouds rising…
smoke over burnt skin,
no smell or sound,
no moon to shine a gentle light,
no melody to ease the pain,
just this final silence
after death has been…
A reflection of the world,
this changing scene,
its wounded heart,
scarred and bleeding still,
a silent wind chasing the clouds,
like flies away from its wounds,
darkness invading
to cover the body quietly,
and bury it deep,
never to be found again…
The crime was done in secrecy,
yet we all know and keep still,
we wrap the dying heart
in tender silence,
in sweet forgetfulness,
we cry and grieve,
seek to ease
our own burden of sin
with joy and laughter
or a good deed,
like mother has taught us,
what more can we do?
We will wake tomorrow,
to a blue sky, a smiling sun,
forgotten the wounded heart,
well hidden under a clean dress,
the same sky is forever changing
like our lives,
and the wounded heart is still beating…

(Sybille(Sydney)Krivenko GISC2052924 2007)