Don't burn the flag. Wash it!
This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
The new light was lean;crawlinglike a horrid serpentit made its nest.It slipped over the eyes of the childrencertain not to rouse them of their sleep.The wailing came next,its throat,with its lamenta woeful tide of loss.Faint at first,thento shattering pale prayerswith its great howl.Have we not enoughmadness, destruction,man’s angry shellover children's throats?Are there nowother rifles to aim,bombs to plungelike God’s will?Her small hand motions to usfrom the mists of tomorrow,pleading, come forwardout war’s great sorrow.
The new light was lean;
crawling
like a horrid serpent
it made its nest.
It slipped over the eyes of the children
certain not to rouse them of their sleep.
The wailing came next,
its throat,
with its lament
a woeful tide of loss.
Faint at first,
then
to shattering pale prayers
with its great howl.
Have we not enough
madness, destruction,
man’s angry shell
over children's throats?
Are there now
other rifles to aim,
bombs to plunge
like God’s will?
Her small hand motions to us
from the mists of tomorrow,
pleading, come forward
out war’s great sorrow.