Lover’s launch words
assembled
from grim metal shards
souvenirs from yesterdays war.
Unlocked pent-up virgins
scream for quiet
they want everything to be red:
the sky the dirt tomorrow and
yesterday.
The broken child has a doll
she too is broken…
kept in glass but never mourned
allowed to speak so long as there is
no weeping.
Frank J. Hopkins, USA
The Social Poet 