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A Wrong Kind Of Quiet
March 17, 2022
The night is quiet
The air is bitter, mumbling
The sounds of danger
A boom, a crash, a sharp scream
The night is quiet again
The dawn is breaking
Awakening the city
But not the people
Heavy boots clomp through the streets
Strangers in a foreign land
Black, sooty houses
Cold, empty storefronts, people
Or rather, bodies
Reduced to dust under boots
That carry the plague of death
“No known survivors,”
Emotionless headlines
For a broken land
Somewhere, maybe, there is peace
Maybe, but it is not here
© Olivia V., Grand Blanc, Michigan
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This was a continous tanka poem with a meter of 5-7-5-7-7 in each stanza. I wrote this about the War in Ukraine.