Berlin: A Prose Poem

Thursday, July 14, 2011


We came to Berlin to discover the places in between.  The fresh scrawl of sprayed paint.  The sudden lark of a solemn boy.  The brume that settles just ahead of storm. 

Between buildings resurrected, among sculptures re-adhered, beneath the dome that bowls up and through an effervescent sky, Berlin is defiantly alive.  It is point and color counterpoint, love in the park, a neon thatch of hair, a colossal strike against despair.

Where am I?  The question.

The answer:  We were there.

2 comments:

Kelly H-Y said...

Beautiful.
I have such interesting memories of Berlin ... I was there in 1992, quite a while ago, a remember such a stark contrast between East and West ... it was like color versus black & white.

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