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A Mommy's
Tears:
Clouds
drift in sky blue
Hiding
an seeking games play
Shapes
ships under sail
Shapes
of Teaddy Bears
Angels
frolic among clouds
Soft wings
sounds summer rain
Spirit
soars, arms wide
embrace
the heavens
Free of
pain, no more hurt
wings
of soft gossomer white
Girls
i watch, tear drops fall
hold close
want ,hearts them feel
Look them
around,
Tiny hands
touch own cheeks
Wet on
fingers them feel
Shy smiles,
look them at me
Reach
for them and them for me
Feel tiny
hands my cheek,touch tears me
Tiny fingers
hold one tear each
Put fingers
heart me, heart them
Say treasures
from the Heavens
Our Mommies
Tears,more precious gold.
Becky
apachedaughter
©August
2003
Vietnam, 196-
Kicking pebbles in the street,
Blood
stained glass under his feet,
Bodies lying all about, people crying,
Mothers grasping those who died,
Fathers carrying
little ones who cry,
People begging and ripping at his sleeve,
His uniform tattered from head to feet,
Carrying a
child with a broken leg,
He lays her down as he takes a rest,
She is not dead, but barely alive,
Blood from a blow,
caused by sniper fire,
He wraps her up in his military garb,
Keeping her safe, away from harm.
Checking his own wounds,
There's
a gaping hole, deep in his ribs,
The blood still flows, staining his shirt,
Drying on his pants, he stands up again,
Carrying
the girl away from this carnage,
He step getting weaker, but he does not falter,
Soon he is close, to a haven for the
two,
He gives the girl to a Nurse, as another,
Tends to his own wounds.
Years later
Shocked and amazed at this man's
heroic deed,
A gentleman stands silent, at the soldier's grave,
Tears streaming down his face, as he holds the picture,
The
picture of his daughter, the little girl he rescued,
He lays the picture on the grave of the man,
Who saved the little
girl, who could have died,
In the enemy's hands.
Walking away with a feeling of
guilt,
He should have been there; he should have been killed,
His daughter beside him, as she takes his hand,
She
looks at the grave of the man who saved her.
Her leg long since healed, but
emptiness in her soul,
She never got to thank the man, who saved her from the turmoil.
Danielle N Calhoun
© August
20, 2003
The Penitent
Musing with grim memories wrapped around
him like a cloak,
While hollow-eyed wraiths swirl about like noxious smoke,
His mind drifts through the rubble of his
lurid recollections,
Masticating those doleful days like chewing sweet confections.
He gently strokes the aching as
though caressing a sweet lover,
Yet searching, probing, scanning, always seeking to discover
Some reason for the haunting
- or a cure for the psychic pain.
Or, perhaps at least the coda for this damned, recurring refrain
That plays forever
and ever on the soundtrack in his brain
Like an alluring dirge, a funeral march, a melodious elegy.
He syncs to the
mournful rhythm of his personal threnody.
He molds a sharpened stiletto forged of steely, unearned guilt
And thrusts
it like a harpoon into his vitals to its hilt.
Then rising like the Phoenix ascending from the flames,
He takes his
seat and wearily starts his penance once again.
©Thurman P. Woodfork 8/21/2003
Unredeemed
We remember
September Eleven
firey smoke rising to Heaven...
the murder of thousands of inocents
a touch that day of Satan`s
essence
Our grief is not quiet...
It wails in the streets
For all times this will be a sign
upon the broken New
York skyline
Horror unspeakable we did record
'Vengence is mine '...saith the Lord...
but this be the prayer that
runs through the land...
'Lord,tip the cup to our lips... and let us drink,
for we need to feel the hilt of the sword
in our hand
prepared for the time when good and evil meets'
No,our grief is not quiet...it wails in the streets...
Faye
Sizemore
©9/4/03
Dark September
In the wind does drift memories
still
of Dear Ones taken against their will
on that fateful day in September
We do pause often to remember...
and
remember a terrorist act so senseless
which ended many innocents happiness
They have failed to tear us asunder...
for
all that came from the ashes and thunder
were hands reaching...pulling us closer together...
Now we do seek out terrorists
and we will forever...
until all their ashes we are able to cast to the wind
in vengence... for lives lost in their
Twin Towers sin
Faye Sizemore9/2/03
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