Hiroshima Notes

Death delivered with such devastation
still leads, decades later, to one desire.

Lasting peace, lifted up by a small girl
gifting her dreams to a golden crane,
surrounded by cascades of folded paper
formed by those too young to have
totally forgotten the colours we once were,
before we learnt to split this world
into its smallest pieces, and needed large parks
filled with poems and crescent moons
and cradled babies trumpeting simple truth
in the face of a concrete crypt containing
the names of all who passed in this place
where we came to drop the worst we could
and watch in wonder as it bred the best
and highest of human being, held
in a rainbow bent back on itself:
the sign of a child’s true promise.

May we never forget the fire
and the fierce determination it formed
to find peace and peace and peace forever.

This is what I live for, why it’s worth
coming back in endless circles;
not the park, but the promise made here,
where we bombed our way to feeling all
that is not bliss and, in our blasted hope,
gave birth to souls returned in gold,
given to recite these lines.

Still the light dances on flowing water
while mountains stand strong in the distance,
waiting well for the moment they too melt back
into illuminated sea.

All is the same, except me,
struck dumb by the death of hope,
the birth of peace and peace and
peace forever.

Traces

Explosions in the sky

Moon language

Living peace