Maylee Bossy

(17/02/95)

Love Never the Dictator


Sheets draped like a toga
I fingered the ancient ruins in your ashtray
Imagined it snowing ashes out our window
Grass coated grey with innocent flesh
I dipped my thumb in
To mark your skin with a cross
We are the annointed, love,
Never the dictator
With cheeks pressed to the tracks of Berlin
The flesh turned bread
In the hands of the hungry
The clouds never do clear
We are the condemned

Submitted: Thursday, February 07, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poet's Notes about The Poem

References to Caesar, Hitler and Stalin in that order.

'The flesh turned bread'- after World War 2 and the Holocaust (where the ashes of victims were dispersed in the air) Germany was in need of Western aid. Planes dropped supplies into Berlin, including bread rations and other foods.

Comments about this poem (Love Never the Dictator by Maylee Bossy )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 2 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. A Soldiers Lament, Phil Soar
  2. The Sloth, Phil Soar
  3. The Double Play, Robert Wallace
  4. Kippers, Phil Soar
  5. what does hope tell you?, RIC S. BASTASA
  6. OUT, Phil Soar
  7. then we have changed from quizzical to a.., RIC S. BASTASA
  8. A Fishy Tale, Phil Soar
  9. those who are dying, RIC S. BASTASA
  10. For Lou and the rest of us, RIC S. BASTASA

Poem of the Day

poet Wilfred Owen

All sounds have been as music to my listening:
Pacific lamentations of slow bells,
The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,
Shuffle of autumn leaves; and all farewells:

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]