OCR Text |
Show house/ 383 'A plan conceived in hell itself Borrowed from death's bleakest shelf Conspired by minds warped with hate Moved to action by the hand of fate. Millions marched to death like sheep Volunteers for endless sleep. Was God aware .of life that day? Or did He just turn away? Women, children shot like dogs Life devoured by ruthless hogs, Will the world ever forget these things? Can we afford to?• Beneath the scrawl was a trio of red candles, dripping wax onto holly leaves. "Season's Greetings" the placemat declared. I cannot decide if it was this irony or the presumption " of discussing a subject so utterly beyond our experience that smothered my thoughts and my words. "You don't like it," Brian declared. "Oh, I do!" I blurted. "Well, not like it. It's not a pretty subject. But you have something - even though it's a bit sing-song. You have the ideas and the metaphors. You could be a poet if you wanted to." Brian's blue eyes warmed. "You really think so?" I hesitated. "Well, I'm not suggesting you do it for a living. And I really don't know much about poetry. You » potential, probably know a lot more than I do. But I can see you have great A Brian grimaced. "I wish you hadn't said that." The next weeks sped by. Brian wrote poems to me"- during school and gave them to me when we skipped class to meet for coffee. We spent every possible moment together, attending every gathering arm in arm. When no event/vas planned, we ate in restaurants and went to movies, spending his paycheck during the first half of the week and my check for waitressing during the second half. |