What Remains

The war has been fought,
a war
you did not even know you were in
until the bombs came crashing in,
leaving around you
the debris of battle,
shards and broken things
barely recognizable
until
you slowly gather them up,
and begin again.

To a stranger,
it likely looks like rubble,
these shattered bits of life and love,
but you know better.
There is music here,
waiting
to be reborn.

About this poem.

Restoration is often harder than creating in the first place. But it is oh so rewarding.

Tom