The Golden Stones




A rose and a fir bow scream their moment from a broken tick

A broken tick that reached into hell for deep black grime – why?

A broken tick that flung its hell upon these candles – pure flames


There is no house. Instead Azreal stays here – regret in his bones

His shadow is cast over the driveway which is cursed with memories

Here lies… two golden stones – just two golden stones


Sanctify – 7 Tea candles inside 7 jars wrapped in 7 orange ribbons

The wind has blown out their flame – the memory is shrouded           

Etchings flicker with meaning, but it’s hard to see so far away


A broken tick; a memorial; a longing



                            -This poem is dedicated to Pinkus Falek & Rachel Falek



Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was written in Leipzig, Germany where I came accross some of the Golden Bricks in the sidewalk. The bricks are being placed in front of houses where the families of the murdured lived before WW2 and the Third Reich.

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