Son of Seoul

SON OF SEOUL Child presses sweet head to her, While mother holds fast to him Man busses forehead, soft lips tight ‘Gainst acorn-colored skin. From ashes G.I. soldiers rose To souls of Seoul set free. Much taller than the rest, one stood ‘Bove war-torched Calvary. And drifting now to streets of home And bird-song tones of voice, Her heart aches for freedom sounds. Her sentence, Life, was choice. Hiding loneliness in a treasure chest Her soldier man won't find, She forever bleeds for Seoul's sweet spice to free her captured mind. This child on her lap had been Her altar-offering hope That life could rupture forth again Through scourge of blood and smoke. But images of her home dissolve As Soldier-shell draws in And presses tight dead lips against Her acorn-colored skin.