Ternopil Pond
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Need to get back to my feet, find my way home
put down this heavy rifle, seek grace..
a familiar voice, a kind face,
hope for forgiveness,
these hands and lives they've undone.
Home, your birth mother's own,
where hearts unite and love ignites
among tall grass and damsel flies,
and panaramic hill just beyond.
Ternopil Pond fashioned by man's will
taken from marsh quicksand and Seret's flow
lies undefiled and still..
yet so many wounds to heal,
along Far beach and Lover's Isle of gold.
Shoulders slumped against the stair.
Scratched and worn, leathery unshaven maw.
Wisp of groan, in tired eye's misty glare,
while boots fill along with torn glove..
wanting only once more,
to be held in love.
Will loving eyes recognize the man she married..
and walk together again, that sandy beach?
her slender fingers just out of reach.,
tho' soldiered voice of pride no longer carries.
A wish remained, where no war dared go,
where hearts unite and love ignites
among tall grass and damsel flies..
and panaramic hill just beyond.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2022
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