I miss the music, and the way we laughed
before they came, when only wine was red.
I miss the innocence with friends, the draught
of beer we shared before the blood was shed.
On cobblestones still wet, we cry revenge!
we put our hope in bombs, to maim and kill.
I miss a world where we enjoyed what’s French,
where Paris was a place of joy and frills
of night: where smiles were not for muzzle flames
A town where men could flirt with bashful dames.
A second entry for dVerse Poetics. Just my heart going out to something that is lost (at least for the time being).
November 17, 2015