Wendy Stevens

Wendy Stevens

By Wendy Stevens. 

The crown of ice that
was formed by a fissure,
sits on my head at an angle.
The dripping water pooling on
the ground, in which the birds bathe.
The birds, unaware of the surrounding strife,
splash with abandon in the cool water.
Water we drown in, water of our tears,
water that flows down the bloody streets
into the gutters of diseased scourge.
I sit in death, my hand outstretched,
helpless to stop the madness
that has invaded this country, and
made its way to the rest of the world.
The creation of a terrorized mind.
Civil and world wars wiped humanity
across the lands and turned them to dust,
carcasses interred in mass graves
that stink of fettered hopelessness.

We imploded in an extinction level event.
History has taught us little, has not opened
the eyes of the masses to what can happen
when hate rules. Enemies of our own divide.
What will become of us?
The crown has since dissolved,
the few remaining drops like
tendrils trail down my cold cheek.
Weak with hunger, humanity lost the humane
in the battlefields of our dead souls.

Friendly Fire

The cloud swept down
and rubbed its soft dense
face against mine.
We walked together
in the early morning,
the silence brief in its stillness.
Our camaraderie floated with us
as we made our way
through the neighborhood.
Then a passing car
killed the cloud,
and I finished my walk alone.


WENDY STEVENS is a 42 year old Administrative Assistant at UPS who loves to write poetry in her off time. She took some time off from writing to go back to school and earn her degree, but now she’s back and ready to feel the joy of writing again.

Photo by scorp84.

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