Garlands and Helmets
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again, she waits till granite morning
becomes juniper borealis
and marble evening returns to morning…
many of days the stars hide from arrogance
to radiance, shut eyelids burning heaven’s
fireplaces stillborn soft. and she waits
wondering
waning
wandering
till heaven holds her spleen from
whispers stenciled with half-known embraces
far, far away unto decaying killing fields
where bullets pierce the hope of many a man
who starve for homemade broth and slices
of children’s chaste eyes
fool, fool of maiden faith
daughter of tribal’s gliding ebb
tell me, are you diminished or stretched by
bravery that taunts the pain?
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Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2011
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