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.
1 comments:
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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