They’ll never move,
These burnt remains.

They are forever
in the same rooms,
the same graffitied streets,
the same stone courtyards.

Sleeping, curled against a blanket,
while the dog, or the child, crawls away.

Squatting, head against folded hands,
Perhaps in a doorway,
Half-hidden behind a fig tree.
In the instant of the turning away.

But I am unbound.
I travel in my mind
along music played there,
millenia later.

Sound that slides along the moving bend of time
to my body, inert, yet aware
of the pressure of the wood floor
against the back of my head,
and the faint brush of fabric
Against my thighs.

They played their music
amidst the black shadows of the dead
and the burning sun.

It now plays over my wandering heart,
wheeling in the blue, ashless sky.

Tug my kite strings
to bring me back down.

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8 thoughts on “Pompeii

  1. Pompeii fascinates me and I finally visited there for the first time last year. Wonderful poem! (Did you link up to the octpowrimo.com linky, though? Because I did not find your poem there, and I bet I’m not the only one missing out on this wonderful verse.)

  2. Christine says:

    Wow. Just WOW! This is haunting and lovely.

  3. Brian says:

    More please, ODHRAN25! I think this is the first poem I have ever liked!

  4. Steve Winter says:

    Nice! It made me see the pics from my visit to Pompeii as I read your words.

    • odhran25 says:

      Thanks Steve! I didn’t remember that you had been there. Cool! Nice to know that it rings true for someone who has been there. I just went to an exhibit a couple years ago.

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