Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

It’s not because they look like me; It’s not because their world seems just Like mine. It’s not because I cry More for their child than those who died Before. These aren’t the things that frighten me, That drive me to the news each night, That make me read intensely of The progress and the cruel plight Of war. My fear is that the battle ground Encompass all, because the sound Of fury with the lethal might Of weapons flying day and night, Is more. It’s more than death of wife or child, Of soldier, town or village, for Before us stands the death of life Itself, at one misstep, destruction Sure. And so I cry.

Thank you for your service friend The phrase repeats, the service never ends. Thank you for your service For the price you paid for me.

I heard it on the news. It doesn’t change. So small I heard a child at war Had tied. Today The news is old again.

Speaking where nobody’s listening Where wounded lie waiting in silence And only the memory of war And the questioning, why Speaking peace in our times.

What will you give me to buy my smile Asks the child while bombs fly Overhead near other children’s brothers Sisters too all asking why Written with thanks for peace

Lay down your swords; Lay down your flaming arrows; lie         Upon your shields, wielding the dream of life; We’ll raise you high.                              Lay down your anger                             Righteous indignation; fierce Denial won’t protect your weary smile;      We’ll raise you high.                                                          ...

The standpipe leans A little, not a lot, And air that once was hot is blowing cold. He watches while the trailing flies grow old Then gives his thanks for shoes For ground to sit on Standpipe leaning Wit to see. Once, long ago, he dreamed He’d grow old too