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Liberté

by Simon Austin

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Thy pen; no mighty sword here preach
Where words, metallic, fall.
On blood-ink lines; stained city streets -
Oh time, thou horrors crawl.
Wrought freedom flits, it waxes, ebbs,
Whence censored bullets rain,
But fallow not among the dead
Doth liberty remain.
 

Copyright © Simon Austin 2015

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Monday 12th January 2015 3:01 pm

Charlie Hebdo   Je Suis Charlie   Paris   Poem   Poetry   Terrorism

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