Winter 2018

The winter that robbed us of our children,
The winter that took away our souls,
The still, silent, purity of snow annihilated, made nihil, nothing
By violent sprayed blood
By shrieks and running feet
By terror, muffled, sobbing, knee-wrapped
In a corner, praying
“Don’t let them hear me, don’t let them find me,
I’ll promise you anything, but don’t let them hear me!”
The shame-filled joy that the scream
Ripped from a young throat
Was thank god someone else’s
And not their own.
The winter that destroyed our innocence,
The winter that fractured our dreams——
Does it yet hold a spring?

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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