The Neck Bottle Blow Poem by Antonio Liao

almost to be there,
as the cart
riding in a curtain of blues.
where drifted path
in the cliff
looking to fall like clouds
in the stormy night
of remorse

whisper of ancient spell
resound
in every corner, sacred hymn
recited
as the great bomb exploded
in the
shanty of homes

lost in the peril of hope,
breath in the
dunes of smoke, eat in the storm of
gun, lives emptied the tomb,
for nowhere to be found an innocent hope
divide

take the horizon of blood,
the choir
spoiled the feast, bring what is dew,
for the morning breathe return,
tie the
ground of sand, the child is born
in the manger and sing Hallelujah
to the
land of the sacred

Amen...