I never usually write poetry, but...

[frau_germania]

A Dream Of A Memory

I dream of the summers in Berlin, before the war.
The afternoon picnics,
The rallys in my linen dress
and new blue hat in the color of my eyes.
You caught me staring at you from under the brim,
like Marlene Dietrich.

I dream of the smell and sounds of those nights,
the light from the torches they carried through the streets
while we all sang.
The rush of people the moment he appeared on the balcony
pressed me into your chest
as you held the line
and recognized my hat.

The smell of your wool and leather filled my senses
as the standard flew freely above our heads.
You risked a glance into my eyes from under your stahlhelm
when your commander looked away,
and I felt myself slipping from the crush of bodies.

A few voices shouting
amongst the din, 'Fall in!'
Carried past your barricade
closed again by linked arms.
Holding me against you
as if I were porcelain,
Your cool fingers now ungloved
woke me with a timid stroke against my cheek.

The people were singing
when my eyes opened again
and saw yours,
as blue as my own

"...Die Strasse frei den braunen Bataillonen!
Die Strasse frei dem Sturmabteilungsmann!
Es schaun aufs Hakenkreuz voll Hoffnung schon Millionen.
Der Tag für Freiheit und für Brot bricht an!..."

We were wed in the fall
as the scarlet leaves danced with the blood red banners
that flew from every building.
I dream now
in black, silver, ivory satin and red.

~ Fräulein Germania