Windless MoonsJun 5th, 2009 | By W.B. Burkholder | Category: Poetry | 791 views
A passion play,
of guns, and white roses.
Petals dyed to crimson.
Roots pulled, and splayed,
under the angry sun of war.
Where the screams of children can be heard,
upon a windless moon,
a million miles away…
O, to find a vessel of rescue,
to find one of hope,
To free the besieged, and forgotten,
and bring to these windless moons,
the seeds of blue skies, and peace.
Desert stardust, uncaring,
uncaring as molded lead and brass…
depleted uranium shining in the blood of the innocents.
And these windless moons continue their deadly orbit,
revolving in their summation’s of hate and pain.
©2009 W.B. Burkholder All Rights Reserved