Death of a Boy
Guns feel neither pain or shame, nor reason or rhyme.
They send messages by air mail with postmarks of death.
The boy in the wire was too young to be a soldier.
When he was alive, no one announced his coming
and no bell tolls his death.
No college welcomed him to their rolls
He was never in “Who’s Who.”
But his life had value and worth.
Here, under a dewy curtain, he lies alone,
no longer concealed by darkness, for lights reveal
that which darkness deceives.
The wind blows dust mixing it with the color
of crimson and black hair.
The last shot's long since departed and silence
stand guard on these acres.
Death in the wire and a body that drips blood
in the night under a brilliant moon that stares down
and clouds lie scattered over “No Man’s Land.”
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Memories of war for me to ponder and wonder if the gangs and thugs in our cities
and towns ever recall their victims. Will they think of them
years later and consider their worth?
Does sleep still come easy? I recall the Bible saying "I'll Turn Them
Over to a Reprobate Mind."
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
