In Memory Of Lorca: : (1898 - 1936) Poem by DM W

In dreams, his presence seems to speak to me:
This fiery flower crushed by frozen steel.
His pen was more powerful than rifles.
His vast, surreal visions were unrivalled.
The world should still weep for one such has him:
A bard to counter distraction' s endless din.

His voice is so soft, yet strange and distant:
Like the echo of the tide, resonant
With blue - green meanings, by a seaweed cliff.
The light of his spirit helps me resist
The monotonous mists of Time. Indeed,
Ittransfigures dark, disenchanted streets.