depictions of war
barbara reese
Images assail,
Stripped, blue-gray, skeletal remains
Stained streets, muddied skies, charred ruins,
Tilted and battered
Bloodied, and bruised,
Purple, magenta, blast-blackened
Colors, that drip and fall into puddles,
Like wounded tears, glazed garnet, scatter
Parched and spent,
Lifeless pendants hanging
On burned strands of smoke,
Immobile as fog, pressing down, heavily to earth,
As the streaked faces of women
Aggrieved and soulless lay
Locked in the misery of memory
Of loose-limbed, children at play
Their hollow echoes of laughter
Dissolving into pain
Running feet, whisper light
Like dust, shift and shudder
Across soil mounds, in twilight
Where far beyond sleep, they mourn,
Candles, bright with life, suddenly gone out
Hearts shrivel, minds numb
Hell offers no reprieve
War, is this…
No more, no less
The infinite emptiness,
After the ruthlessness
The awesome stillness,
After the dread
The act too often guided
By hands and truths,
Whose purpose is at question
Yet whose call is obeyed,
By convention or conviction, who can say?
Followers all, fall victim,
Doomed to the same inevitable fate
A fate, as vast and as vacant
As the portal,
Of a waiting grave
Barbara Reese is a published poet and essayist. Finding solace, refuge, purpose, and direction in the written word, she looks forward to tapping into other creative forays, including photography and fiction. She considers it a profound pleasure to be recognized by other literary enthusiasts.
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