 No Room For Tears ©Nancy L. Meek 03-09-03 Learning too well man is mortal the proof lying there by his boot he searches for that elusive portal the room where solutions lie mute; tied and gagged by the war insane answers elude him again today. Steeling to the horror, numbed and drained he lights a cigarette and walks away  No Time ©Nancy L. Meek 03-09-03 He is such a near-sighted animal physical survival the ultimate goal with all his senses fully channeled there is no time to ponder the whole A comrade adorns the sacred ground a war pawn oozing cooling blood his fatal wounds, devoid of sound pool, christening boots in the mud His buddy tries, but tears won't come stoic, mumbling the persistent "Why?" Stomach churning, his knees go numb on this day, though not his own, to die He lifts his eyes to a silent heaven perks his ears for answers therein to fervent prayers seemingly destined to drift and disperse with the battle wind Resting and muddy from childhood play his buddy refuses to rise and come home in this teenage graveyard, he prefers to lay face down, pretending, in bloody loam The bags, somehow, suddenly appear out of nowhere, waiting for a moment like this to hide his silent scream, his look of fear his arm, his leg...insanity, the carnal kiss Reality steeps in the heat from the sun a field reeking carnage the morning fare the effects lasting until his life is done in a resiliant thousand-yard stare No time to mourn, no room for tears as they lift his remains to the sky soon to confirm a mother's fears on this day her baby boy would die The soldier steps to the battle drum on a narrow path 'tween God and man honorable conquest his rule of thumb for lack of a more righteous plan From cradle-to-grave he soars his wings beating hard against solid air struggling to rise above all he abhors swallowing the war's morbid affair But he is such a near-sighted animal physical survival the ultimate goal with all his senses fully channeled there is no time to ponder the soul  War Chorus ©Nancy L. Meek 02-09-03 It's hard to think of naught but war waiting in the wings of the many who'll be caught in the song inhumanity sings Its tune scooping bits of hell onto shovels of the damned urine, vomit, and feces' smell 'tis the first chorus slammed Its odor mingling with flesh burnt and charred past hope whafting with carnage afresh "Mother!" rung from his throat Its melody swinging to the beat of sweet peace and liberty for all but not for the dead in the heat swelling beyond mental recall It's your brother who lay there the saviour who keeps you free while you wonder what to wear or what movie you will see It's the war song no one knows but those who've been there before hard to think, but that's how it goes... this chorus of blood, guts and gore **************** The Difference ©Nancy L. Meek 01-11-03 surprise at seeing their bodies... eyes frozen in terror...staring at some distant object behind you... mouths gaping in the widest of yawns... as if the dead needed sleep! steals your breath as you stare... eyes wide with terror...frozen having so much in common...but not for you can gasp and scream and it is you who cannot sleep! 
Open Grave ©Nancy L. Meek 10/02/02 In fitful sleep he squirms fetally crouching over there too far from too-short arms to reach him in his despair I hear him softly moaning praying for the sun to rise lids shut, in battle groaning hands flailing darkening skies Beads of sweat lace his brow as he screams his buddy's name but his buddy doesn't answer now fallen victim to the game The stakes are much too high The cost is buried deep in a grave exhumed each night by a buddy who cannot sleep Morning brings a quiet day... silence always follows death Nightime brings the bloody fray the scope of Hades' breadth The daily paper brings no hope of ways to end the war its tongue flicks against the slope as it slithers to our own front door War, it seems, will always be... as long as evil rules the day Its fangs spewing venom....free to poison whom it may  Faith in a Foxhole ©Nancy L. Meek 02-11-01 How can a soldier keep his faith, Inside his bloody trench, When a bullet with his name engraved Seeks him through the stench? Memories of his former life, When innocence was bliss, Come mocking, haunting, asking, "What golden rule is this?! How could a loving, caring God Desert me in such a place When any moment, I might die Or lose part of my face?" But still he prays with fevered heart Face-down in muddy sod, "Please, just let me do my time In this place so far from God. Then get me home, in one piece, To those who love me dear. Help me make it through this night, To sleep in spite of fear." A voice beside him whispers "Who are you talking to?" "I'm not sure," came the answer "Just someone I once knew." *************** You Will Remember Well ©Nancy L. Meek 12-29-02 your eternity in Hell... your pockmarked trench, the stench of rotting flesh; In awe and honour... your driven blade as smiling eyes return your gift; though dead, a soldier... the Martyr made who will live for 'The Cause'... a Broader Rift... a fresh turn in Hell for some unborn hero you will remember well. |
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