Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...
I sense God’s eyes penetrating the dense haze and brown hands groping openly, willful arms stretched wide searching for children’s eyes, finding those that whimper. Cold fingertips touch my face collecting tears for display.
Each night I hear shrieking of owl or nighthawk and I see resounding beams of an already forgotten light, dancing creatures under the sand, sounds of tin cups and plates rattling our ravenous music.
Hunger’s my medicated craving, not for rations, but for living, panting to glimpse the sun.
Each day a wounded ground walks within my night...
Why do the shadowy vapors tremble so? Have they the trampled spirit within their frail offspring of hope? Might it be the colossal God carrying the virgin jaws to my hour of darkness that’s within my hunger?
Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...
mrp
Casualties in Iraq
Iraqi Civilian Count
American Civilian Casualties
Casualties in Afghanistan
The Faces
