Broken Homes and Children's Cries

May 30, 2011
Her fingers dance across the pillow
The lifeless picture frame facing the window,
His empty camera eyes looking out
Onto the beauty of the Earth
Space,
Time,
Love,
Trees,
Animals.
Where he resides is nothing more
Than a nightmare of his own fantasy.
A nest brigaded with lonely spiders
Leaning into the breeze and eating their way to freedom.
He knows not of home.
His mind has left his peace in the tunnels of Paris,
The high peaks of China,
And the lowly slums of India.
For she sits, thinking
“God? Why did you take him from me?”
The guns fire and the sky blasts.
Men fall dead to the ground-
Another unknown soldier for the decade.
Seeing death in the face of beauty,
She cries like rivers.
Wholesome barriers of crystal eyes,
Teary breathes and lost goodbyes.
The streets of laughter and ice cream are
Forgotten and begotten,
Justified by Christ,
Broken homes and children’s cries.
When will Daddy return?
He isn’t coming back.





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