Day Twelve of the War

The bright arched caverns
of the Metro fill
with a hushed conversation.
We stand in ones and twos
and a cluster of tourists
all seeking shelter under lit arches
waiting for the rush of the train.
The sounds of a European tongue
echo off the concrete
walls. The city may not be alive
but it is filled,
a peoples intent on the everyday
while the newspapers declare
victory assured.

I am convinced, only of this:
we in ones and twos,
a cluster of humanity there and here,
are the saving force,
a touchstone to a peace
in this temple to technology.


Copyright 2003 by Peter A. Stinson.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.