Construction of the pyramids at Gaza, for...

Red is the light behind my weary eyes

Though sky is blue

Though sun is white

And shining

Red is the light behind my eyes.

Red is the hand that heaves and pulls the stone

Though rock is gray

Like passing day

No hope

And red is the hand that heaves the stone

Red is the blood that stains the earth and sand

Though ground be brown

And flesh of hand

That bleeds

Red is the blood down on land.

Red is the fire of bodies’ last desire

Though love is paler

Memories waver

Why?

Red is the dying funeral pyre.

Red is the sunset over the thing we made

Sharp lines of black

Sharp lies look back

We died

Red is the sunset on our graves.

Red is my hope of what you’ll understand

Great were our works

Great were our plans

Our hands

Wreaked wonders here and now we’re gone.

Comments: 13

JOHN BECK Sep 23, 2009, 3:58pm EDT

Fantastic, Sheila! A great poem and a great tribute.

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Sandi S. Sep 23, 2009, 4:13pm EDT

THIS was fabulous, Sheila!

Very, very good.

I love what you did with the color red and how you told the story. And now they're gone.

Makes you think about what we give our lives to. One day we will be gone like them.

BRAVO...

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Granny Janny H. Sep 23, 2009, 6:47pm EDT

Slave labor painted in red
A monumental work left by the dead

I admire this poem but was stopped by my own questions in the line "sharp lies look back".
What lies? How are lies sharp?

Sheila Deeth Sep 23, 2009, 9:17pm EDT

Not sure, but I think I had the way false promises cut and hurt in mind. Neat question though.

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Lynn Doiron Sep 23, 2009, 7:45pm EDT

Your opening lines pulled me in from the generated email to read this in its entirety. Brava, Sheila.

Not saying you should change a word of this, but the final line seemed somehow not as minimalist AND on target as the rest. Not sure why I feel that, unless the knowledge they're gone is already present ... ? Maybe a different slant on offering this end wrap-up?

Again brava! A pleasure to read.

Sheila Deeth Sep 23, 2009, 9:21pm EDT

I see what you mean, though I'll have to think about what to change. I have a habit of mixing up times. I imagined him as a ghost reliving the past, retelling the tale to the admiring present.

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