Broken mirrors

Broken mirrors

Broken mirrors,
bleeding hearts,
shattered reflections of you,
a picture of a woman in a photograph with a smile.
Distorted visions in a damaged world,
distorted visions in a war-ravaged world,
and bodies lying in a gutter in a world torn apart,
in a city with no heart,
a city after the end of a war and the cessation of violence,
a city with blood amongst the ashes and the rubble,
a city with bodies buried in the rubble,
a city with bullets through the walls and buildings on fire,
a city with great emptiness,
and a place only filled with ghosts and broken mirrors,
and bleeding hearts,
and evacuees returning to the remains of their homes,
looking for memories,
looking for a comfort of sorts,
looking for memories amongst the rubble,
looking for comfort now they are mostly alone, totally alone,
with their families now slaughtered and gone,
slaughtered and gone, and peace,
peace it rumbles bloodily on,
bloodily on amongst the ashes and the rubble,
as the remains of the buildings are searched,
and loved one’s bodies are found,
and as tears fall from loved one’s eyes,
and they cry over those blown apart,
those who were tortured and mutilated,
and shot and executed,
life in the aftermath of the terrible atrocities of war,
stumbles on, it stumbles on with barely any comfort at all,
with nearly everyone slaughtered and gone,
nearly everyone slaughtered and gone.

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