Isaac in France

By Elvira

The Cart                      rumbles                       on the
Cobbled street —
Destination: DEATH.
Once, the brilliant lights
sang    for her —          now, only the
Cold damped grave
awaits:            The DARK DANCE of Death.
Eyes – once dancing, with Joie
de Family; now
Muted by Blood —
Betrayal – Misplaced Ideals,
Hands, once
adorned by diamonds – BOUND.
hair – the
rage —             Now, grey; cut —
to make the Job Easier

Naiveté                        the true Villain
flies out the
window, as an unwanted Spouse.

Walk: unaided             in white,
Royal mourning color,
now, used to satisfy
the Bloodlust
of the Mob.
Up the scaffold:
Alone.
all human dignity        GONE —
replaced          by the comfort
of GOD
Does HE ask this offering?
Will the World be a better place
Joan died in flames
for love of France —
and, you          for trading Austria
for Belle Partie

No one             wept    for the peasant
girl —
No one             weeps  for
YOU.
— and yet,
without your BLOOD
the MOB
becomes          the       TRUE
Savages!

We NEVER learn
THE lessons Hitler      sacrificed his
to Winter,
as Napoleon!
The World is round.
Life is round.
WE
NEVER
LISTEN.

March 2016

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