It is cold, unoccupied, lifeless;
Our child's emptiness traveling
In sparsely armored humvee.
Jarring and bitter, empty,
Insensible; our child's barrenness
`long side man’s unraveling;
Fatigued, armed and dying.
It lifts the massive durable toward heaven,
Then bows, bends and screeches as it falls.
Silence- Or so it seems,
This, a moment of solitude in a globe
Of explosion and volley
Escalating with the Arab sun.
The child warriors within;
Patriots, brothers, sisters, one nation
Spindling through the shell of molten
Metal’s blazing shawl.
A ringing ear comes leisurely
Near sounds of lamentation
For this; our numbed child's shrieking.
Tiny fragments of steel rain
Dropping `round our flesh
Spattering through horrors fabric,
At once soaking it, us.
What? You’re imperceptible, hush…
At first…and now it comes,
Spraying down upon the executioner’s table;
Tiny sounds,
tink…tink…spat…tink…tink…spat…
...tink, tink, tink…spat…tink…
This our child's numb life shrieking.
STORYTELLER: “…The cold, frightened and hungry child sits shivering upon the mountain top. The sun is enclosed in dark and menacing clouds. Just as the cold wind begins to take the child an angel appears. A voice as tender as moonlight, “Don’t be afraid my lovely child, just a small while longer.”
The weeping child looks up, “Are you a bird?”
“A bird?” now asks the angel. “What kind of bird my dear?”
And the child thinks for a moment. “Are you a blue bird?”
The angel now begins to flutter its massive wings and a warm wind begins to blow bringing a smile to the child’s cheeks. The wings begin to rise up like a tidal wave and all of the child’s fear now melts away. The wings now begin changing colors and the sky opens up and the earth is lit in a warm radiance and the angel disappears. On the ground at the child’s feet now lays a tiny bird as blue as the sea. ...The end.
GEORGE: `Houston, this is “Tiny Bluebird”, get me the hell outa here!' What are you thinking? Now? Now? No! Not now!That’s not the end! There is no happily ever after! 9/11 changed all of that! And you sure as hell ain't much of a storyteller neither! ...When the little shit was pooping ice cubes your blue angel summoned a lukewarm wind, and when the pipsqueak was terrified out of its skull it summoned the brat some half-baked courage! Right? Well tell me something, Einstein, what the hell did your beloved cherub bring for the kid’s starvation?
