on an afternoon in the park

She tells me of
Russian women
in fur lined bras,
expressing their thoughts
on the beauty of pregnancy.

A parade
of nameless young men,
just made into common soldiers,
passing shoulder to shoulder,
marching to their monumental deaths.

Hell, rising up and raining down.
The entire world smelling of
burnt flesh and nightmares.

The reality of emptiness
the only state of existence
still understood.