Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My Face Remains Granite

A fire storm bloomed
On the horizon.
The wind
Brought the screams
To my ears
And yet, my eyes
Darted over the landscape.

I'm sure
They thought
I was looking for
That I could
Feel your energy
Pulsing through
Your body
Miles away.

The watched
My face
As though it
Was a gauge
Of how our men
Were doing
On the battlefield.

My face, though,
Was like granite.
I refused
To smile
Or frown.
I would not
Be the one
That make
These women cry,
Cleaving their children
To their bosoms.

I'm sure
They knew their men
Were dead.
Their bodies
Feeling a loss,
A void
And yet
They ignore it,
Deny it,
Bury it.
Then force
The flower of hope
To grow
In the barren earth.

I want the war mongers
To tell these women
That their men
Now lie on
The fields of battle.
Another inanimate object
Like a rock
Or a felled tree.

Let them hear the shrieks
That pierce the sky
Trying to cut
Into heaven
And be heard
By our fallen warriors.

And still
I train my eyes
On the horizon,
Feeling my other half
As the blood
Flowed our of you
Taking with it
My energy.

As a part of me dies,
As you die,
I refuse to cry,
My face remains granite.