At Pompeii
On the postcard images
Pompeii at peace
unearthed from centuries
of ash;
now on these cobblestones
lined with emptied shops
and shells of homes,
brothels, public baths
and fresco'd palaces
more colorful and alive
than twisted shapes
cast in faceless plaster molds
straining for another breath,
I could feel Vesuvian ash
pouring down
like burning snow
and I could hear the screams,
know the frantic rush
for light
where no light came,
and know the hardened
end of life.
Neil Ellman, a poet living in and writing from New Jersey, has been published in print and online journals from “A” (Astropoetica) to “Z” (Zygote in My Coffee) with a few more letters in-between.
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