Broken hearts

Broken hearts

in the famous hallway
with endless private doors

the maid scrubs the wall
she cleans the floors

while overhead more bombs
continue to fall

inside the doorway of the cafe
scattering paper
upsetting a tray

then just before dawn
everyone was gone

cups of coffee spilled
mounds of tears
more people killed

and a long run begins on nervous feet
towards Broadway for an opening night seat

where "Hero is almost dead," the black swan said,
with a bullet in his brain

now, no memory can remain

The kitten sips warm milk in a nuclear haze

An old man dreaming till the end of his days

Nearby, a baby cries
from hunger
soon dies

more poison falling from the skies

All their stories pointing fingers
more time is passing and more time lingers

Broken hearts

an apple pie and cherry tarts

Bombs are falling on the firing line
innocent blood runs red

"Lips without a name," is what He finally said

on a deserted island with sandals underneath His toes,

as the warm breeze strokes His forehead, so everybody knows

Broken hearts.