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.