My Morning Poem -

The Book Thief

 

The book The Book Thief

stole my words.

 

Markus Zusak writes of Nazi Germany.

Words squeeze life with death.

 

I am beaten, battered, and nearly starved

as doors open and close

on love and hate.

 

Hitler climbed to power on his words,

then, burned books.

Bush twists words, mobilizes them to kill.

 

My father volunteered in WWII,

became a pilot, and dropped bombs from a B-17.

Shot down, and captured by the Germans,

he rode a train to a northern camp.

 

There, he fed on books.

 

Innocent are the letters in words,

straight lines and curves,

given common meaning in the sacred

caves of our heads. 

 

Love. 

 

Drop down the line of the L,

and turn right or left depending

on whether you are living as an L,

or seeing it from outside.

 

Both can give the ride that leaps

to O, a letter oval and whole,

 

that bounces down with the V

to touch the ground and then rising

 

swings round to E.  

 

Use Love to sound.   Peal!