Where have all the Flowers Gone?

Bleary eyes see flowers around him.
Her man who should be in awe,
cutting the cord of his first born son.
Tears of joy, a new life entrusted to him.

A moment frozen in time, as her
strong resolve melts at papers' touch.
Her empty future lay in simple pages,
teardrop smeared ink, crimson red.

Pain filled eyes search for warmth.
Draperies of bloody red velvet,
hang over pale flesh sheers,
mocking tales of young love.

Shadows of dancing flames
cover the ceiling,
inviting her to join
a waltz of eternal unrest.

Each day comes the knife
to again pierce her heart, so
she carries on, despite bitter tears
her prayers might bring another home.

War has not changed.
God's innocents die, we bury them.
Feed the hungry, clothe them,
all humans cry, feel love and loss.

From the first war to Iraq,
war is hate, men kill their brothers.
Women and children pay the price
replace men; raise food, serve battlefields.

Ask any child,
puzzlement fills their face.
Innocents don't understand
the need for blood on our hands.

Babies won't know parents,
all is decided by men,
behind desks, without faces.
How much blood will pay the cost?




By
Kathie Stehr