USA

A.Yvonne.Morris@kctcs.net

"Private Sorrows"

The soldier writes home to his wife from the desert,

'Last night I dreamed that I was swallowing the sky--
and as I drank it down, my love,
all the tiny stars burst open inside of me--
but one diamond moon remained,
hanging in the glass.
By its light, I watched my hand
become a door, my body a bridge,
and heard my hard memories
of those who have died
release this living voice.'

"In Love and War"

Our names are still inscribed on gold bands
like the granite walls where we stood side by side
and counted the lines, placed our hands reverently
to our hearts, saddened at partings so blunt
there was guilty surprise that left us
little but grateful to be alone and alive--
after all, that's war

And in peace? We moved to neutral nations--
where now undisguised as secret agents--
we lure new allies to abet us,
fill our empty fields with green soldiers,
and decorate the newly fallen with medals
to honor their superior aims

© All Copyright, 2002, A. Yvonne Morris.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.