Surgical Strikes
Stars blink out;
another dawn triumphs over a defeated night.
The wounded and dead hidden by time zones.
Echoes of a brief brutality, too far off
to rattle backyard grills and beer cans.
Let us lift up our hearts in song
to drown out the drone
of arrowing smart bombs,
for we have taught our ears to un-hear.
the distant dead, their surgically dismembered voices
just sparrows chirping upon pleasant lawns,
We forget to regret the weakening wink
of their semaphore signals,
and no nocturnal flames dare pierce or mar
our pillowed and peaceful rest.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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