metal

They judge with unseeing eyes,
ears that hear not a sound
Her short hair, a sign of mutiny
The unsmiling face, regarded with suspicion
They look over the sorrow, the hurt,
They care not about her life
The black clothes, disgraceful
The music, loud and terrible,
Music of the devil
Why the hate?
Some liked it slow,
some fast, some soft, some loud
She, well, she liked metal

that December day

Christmas, the day before
Poya, that day
but that didn't stop nature
it's but a hazy memory now
the fear, the confusion.
most of all, the deaths
not one or two,
buildings crashing to the ground,
homes, belongings, nothing left
tears as pictures, videos are shown
the waves, huge, dark, rough
taking away all it could
and then the hurt, the affected
they stood up, hand in hand
houses made into homes,
wounds healing, scars fading
and now, the sea,
a friend once again
yet, there lies
that fear, that doubt, that suspicion
because the scars fade,
but remain, a slight reminder
of that terrible day