Hands of War
The hands of war will push adrift,
all who will become something else.
Sergeants will remove their war faces,
to become fathers to the wounded and dying.
High School athletes will wear the blistered
hands of grave diggers.
The Six O'clock News, brings a cup.
filled with the tears, of one legged children.
And interviews the rain,
who is no longer pleased with their dancing.
Young bodies will be ravaged by fatigue,
A dark animal who barks all night long.
And wakes even hunger and thirst from ancient slumber.
Evil thoughts will comb the hair of lost minds.
It will seem like dusk, a long time.
Vengeance has placed a bloodied hand over
the mouth of victory.
And promises to repay in full. Generals
listen like starving farmers. Their harvest
no longer able to feed the sorrow for the fallen.
High velocity steel, rips open the souls,
of newly made widows and orphans.
Bitterness whispers to the broken hearted to blame God.
No one can remember he is a father to the fallen.
Or how the dying spoke into eternity, and were heard.
In the distance you can hear the belly of War. Rumbling for
another good meal. It holds both sides hostage,
and chuckles at our forgetfulness.
