Bent, twisted metal
deluges the remains,
Of the soot-caked
furnace that cremated the unlucky.
The work-goers
lie as dust beneath relatives’ feet
Unable to answer
their ever calling mobiles
that remain ringing
in the survivors ears.
Images of death
and pain, swamp the shocked minds,
As the reality
seeps deep into the weeping scars
That the survivers
will never be able to heal.
The sea of flowers
wilt for the loved ones
That may never
be found in the twisted urn.
By Fiona Macro
Dedicated to those who died or suffered as a result of the Paddington train crash.