Plainly,
she dressed,
she spoke.
She seemed
forgettable:
lost name,
blurry face.
There was
nothing
to be done—
to be known.
They say they
would have,
had they seen,
had they heard.
Ignorance hadn’t
Stopped it
spreading further,
Infecting more.
Keeping casualties
from happening.
Bearing witness,
staying silent,
pleases beasts
sometimes.
Not for long,
always more—
she had enough
bad things
for a lifetime.
Stole theirs—
Annihilations
just happen.
∼ Lydia Prime
© Copyright Lydia Prime. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 
Thumbs up. Very evocative.
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Loved the rhythm in this poem, just terrific.
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Reads so smoothly/clearly/cleanly; its stillness/chills/my bones
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It’s cool the way you finished each stanza in the next stanza.
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Gorgeous! I love how flawlessly you have worked one message into another. Very well done!
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