Dear George
But I dropped to my knees, they went just limp under me, when I got word he was dead.
I agonized unrecognizable pleas that sent my daughter into her own shock and awe.
Then jumped to my feet to go somewhere, anywhere, to find him alive, instead.
All of the times I had worried myself over silly things like a little cut knee,
Or whenever I heard the cry of another mother who had a small son who was missing,
Or the terrible day when we thought he had wrecked but (Thank God!) it was not him,
Filled me with both sadness and hope, as his grip on my life now grows dim.
I did not give thought to what I'd wear tomorrow, or what anyone would eat or drink.
Not that I don't care for my other kids, I've just never been this far out on the brink.
I really believe I could lose touch, over time, if all I do is lay about and think.
I should be on my knees, I know that calming ease, but I'm afraid to open up and speak.
The funeral was blurry, my eyes were grossly swollen, but we could not see him anyway.
The bangs of salute, though respectful to him and his troop, sing a mockery of my pain.
The bomb had gone off way too close to my boy, from a car nearby where he stood.
So accomplishment of this war, Dear George, is not worth what we pay for greater good.
They are just children who you sent over there, fighting men who've fought wars there forever.
The complete nonsense of this rationalized strategy of yours confuses even the clever!
Our military fights, brings death, creates trauma, having no way to show others how to live,
Free the enslaved for the first time in life, and ask, "Now . . . what contribution can you give?"
I do not wish to keep you any longer, as you have meetings and what - not to attend.
And the humanity in me sympathizes with the larger scope of life that you must mend.
Government and politics I never really studied, so just consider this a plea from a friend.
They may have suffered masses of dark trauma, but I haven't any more soldiers to lend.
Published by Jeanne Sparks-Carreker
Convicted felon, reformed drug trafficker, disenfranchised from society by the government. I spend most of my time creating ways to educate non-users about drug addiction, so that addicts are understood and... View profile
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2 Comments
Post a CommentThanks, hun, I wish it would bring a tear to George's :)
Jeanne, I have tears in my eyes. This poem is beautiful but yet so heart wrenching. You always seem to bring some emotion out in me with each new piece. I love that about you, thanks.