When I first heard of our current war,
The occupation of Iraq,
I dug up a beautiful rock from my yard, a buried wish.
I picked it up out of the dirt,
Polished it vigorously
And held it up toward the bright midday sun.
I then observed the star
Rudely abandon my offering
And round up the clouds; his cheerless band of thieves.
I asked him why he was not pleased,
Wasn’t the rock pretty enough?
He just wrinkled his mug and stepped behind the haze.
I was hurt, but more determined,
I knew that war would incinerate the children;
Iraq’s pristine treasures hunkered down in trembling.
So I dug up another rock and another.
I dug until my fingers bled.
I dug at a furious pace; time was not on my side.
Soon I had three hundred rocks,
And no feeling in my hands.
Again I offered them to the veiled and sneering sun.
Again the superlative star mocked me,
And the clouds scoffed
Then commenced to spit upon my pleading expression.
So I dug and dug and dug.
I was a madman, digging up grass and flowers.
And, as I dug, the hovering mob threw down their noise.
Lightening struck now,
Yet I was determined to find the perfect stone,
I was digging for all the marbles; the kit and caboodle!
And, “CLANK”, there it was, a door.
A beautiful and brilliantly shining silver door;
A most curious thing to find buried beneath the yard.
The sun peaked through
Inquisitive of this amazing find,
Even the clouds ceased their scoffing and gathered near.
I banged the shovel down upon it
And a massive echo rumbled deep.
The blood from my hands dripped upon the silver frame.
I looked now to the sun,
“Is this magnificence enough?”
But before he could answer,
From under my feet, came a thunderous knock…
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
