Sick of the illusions raised by the killers, became teachers. Sick of the dust raised by those teachers, became fools. On the edge of the past, the fears are rolling over. We are still running all around each other in forest and its dark stillness. A stillness never tells the truth. Forest is only a body of leaf’s soul. We still believe the war is over now, but do not recall who won it. Kind people, no doubt, for only they would leave so many dead. Their last breath keeps us turning back to something forgotten, to something misplaced, keeps us turning back toward their dreams, which are blameless.
David Dephy is a Georgian/American award-winning poet and novelist. He is named as A Literature Luminary by Bowery Poetry, The Stellar Poet by Voices of Poetry and The Incomparable Poet by Statorec. He lives in New York.
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