Baron hotel Aleppo 

Gleaming eyes filled with memories illuminated your stories of before.As your words walked me through passionate times and painful realities, 

your voice never wavers. 

These feet, covered in wars dust,

 step gingerly through your crumbling memories.

Huge cedar doors hang tattered 

and shattered from lentils of your families hotel.

Generations welcomed weary, famous 

and infamous travelers in through these doors.

Keys to suite 213, remain in their box. 

No presidents will rest in this spot.

Now, anger fills halls 

that once echoed with your childhood laughter.

Wishing I could have journeyed to this place before. 

Before evils fangs beset a people’s hope. 

Rending from the gleaming white stones a cities life blood. 

Stained and drained walls 

bear witness to a century of occupation.

Hosting dignitaries and rejects, orphans and fortune seekers, 

windowless now, the Baron seems to cry.

All about her have died, for what reason, we sigh.

Through your tale of refuge and joy I have come here.

Between warring factions in a homeless city.

Your words bare warnings fate, I pray it’s not to late.

Tears fill tired eyes as your memories refill my broken heart.

Back to before, walking along marbled floors.

Singing with French songs, as busy men carry bags her in.

Baron Hotel, grand in our dreams still, before Aleppo fell.

Freeing our wants for these, your memories our hearts taunt.

Share more, as we stand ready, at this grand ladies door.

Thank you for filling my heart with your memories.

Buildings live as long as human hopes and dreams fill their walks. 

When kindness and dreams vacate, despair and decay check in.

As long as your words remain, with Baron my heart is stained.

Covered in living memories, veiled in histories charms.

Glimmering white walls dancing lights in glass filled Windows.

Forever, the Baron remains here in, in this place from before.

W.A. Manning


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