By Louis Faber
We should have heard
the blasts of the trumpets
that morning, encircling us,
we caged in, imagining
ourselves to be innocents.
We should have heard
before that day, but we
had chosen deafness,
and the cries, the threats
of warning were
so easily cast aside.
As the walls fell
around us we realized
that we had no escape
and we cried to our God
as they cried out to theirs
one God or no God,
all of us abandoned,
all reduced back
to ashes
to dust.
Louis Faber is a poet and blogger. His work has appeared in Cantos, Alchemy Spoon,
New Feathers Anthology, Dreich (Scotland), Prosetrics, Erothanatos (Greece),
Defenestration, Atlanta Review, Glimpse, Rattle, Cold Mountain Review, Eureka
Literary Magazine, Borderlands: the Texas Poetry Review, Midnight Mind, Pearl,
Midstream, European Judaism, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review,
among many others, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. A book of poetry, The
Right to Depart, was published by Plain View Press. He can be found at
https://anoldwriter.com.
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