Berlin

Berlin

Red brick city, towering.

I remember walking 6 ft tall,

I could see the chimneys above the charcoal walls,

Stained with the sordid history,

Though it never felt threatening to me.

Everything was always grey,

Still struggling to resuscitate

The colour that was drained away,

With the blood of the fallen.

I repeat the same path we walked down,

The window frames of shops, black lacquer,

Blanketed in bright white snow,

An icy cusp to cleanse the city’s sins.

My third year alive, holding your hand.

Crunching the autumn skin underfoot,

Enjoying the sound, and the power I felt,

This city has seen enough death.

A childhood playground,

Cheerful and cherished memories

In a capital responsible for genocide,

It all seemed so innocent to me.