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Sandwishes & Shellshocked

Updated on October 10, 2009



Tiny boy child sitting calmly
playing in the sand
forming smooth walled castles
with his clever little hands
imaginary worlds of Kings
and Queens down by the sea
dwelling in a happy place
of peace and harmony
turrets tall with perfect towers
gleaming in the sun
moats and drawbridge made of
driftwood quietly are hung
windows with a tiny finger
drilled out not to deep
a magic place that he created...
his own castle's keep
suddenly the cry of "Dolphin!"
fills the summer air
people leap up to their feet
and point, and shout, and stare
little boy child seeks the fin
that marks the mystery
of one of the most gentle
of God's creature's from the sea
while his head is turned
a giant foot starts its descent
smashing down the dreams he made
from all that time he spent
a careless passerby
looks to see what's going on
flip-flop bombs laid waste
unto this sculpture,
then it's gone
little boy child turns back
to finish work he'd left undone
seeing that it is destroyed
his tears gleam in the sun
he walks away and leaves a piece
of his soul on the beach
that soon is washed away
by waves whose liquid fingers reach
to draw the world around them
back into the salty brine
and grind it into tiny crystal's
sparkling with sunshine

Iraqi child sits by a hut
and calmly works the sands
weaving patterns fit for blankets
textured by his hands
dreaming of the market days
when real work he can sell
make some escape
from this his desert hell
suddenly the people cry out
"Bomber!!" point and shout
Iraqi child looks all round
to see what it's about
only eight he doesn't know
the heavens hold much more
then Allah's love...
from pretty clouds
there also can come war
a giant finned creature is launched
and starts on it's descent
his Momma screams a block away
but knows all hope is spent
the people scatter like a roach pack
startled by the light
and only one boy child remains....
to face the newest blight
just twenty feet away
it impacts with a shattering roar
and dreams of blankets pretty patterns
turn to bloody gore
Sand-wishes spattered with raw flesh
fresh blood and one small hand
that later when it's opened
holds a heart shaped ball of sand
the waves of grief like liquid fingers
out from eyes are spilled
but they cannot wash away
the vision of kids killed
some careless acts by grown adults
result in young boy's cries
while other acts of careless-ness
go wrong and young boys die
sand wishes turned to tragic ends....
it happens every day
to many innocent are lost..
young children swept away
when wishes turn to sand
they slip through fingers and are lost
and when it hurts the children
it extracts too high a cost.



Tiny bloated baby
floating in a rice paddy
amidst exploded pieces
of her mom and her daddy
simple peasants picking rice
...young infant sits near by
crawls to be near Momma
and emits a lonely cry
which triggers off a claymore mine
as one army draftee,

panics and then triggers

what was meant for the V.C.
1000 balls of shrapnel
poke holes in eternity
entranceways to exits
for their souls that now are free
killed in our attempt
to build them a democracy
in a land of simple lives
that wished to be let be
multiply this by the men
who died in agony
their names chiseled
on tall black walls

in Washington D.C.
just as many
years later who
took their life in grief
or died from agent orange
with cancer...begging for relief
tiny little strip of land
that always lived with war
men who bled and died
all wondering what they're fighting for
take a hill and give it back
then take that hill again
come back home and face the masses
calling them heathen
piles of bones of men
held captive... never coming home
for a fee they will return
each soldier bone by bone
tiny ribbons dot the chests
of those who made it through
bars of color that attest
to all they tried to do
soil rich with peasant blood
mixed with Americans
craters from the bombs
we dropped now overgrown again
jungle claiming back it's turf
it smothers war's debris
planes and copters vanish
with thier men eternally
bones of peasants fertilize
the new rice paddies grown
soon the land bears little trace
of all that once was known
new babies squat near the rice fields
giggling as they play
mamasan's still keep a sharp eye
on them through the day
they've heard tales of cobra's
that could fly and pound the land
with one hundreds rounds per square inch
decimating every man
birds now chirp and life
continues like it always had
wars they come and go....
but when it peaceful life's not bad
other places they fall targets
to the war machine
while bleached bones left in Vietnam
turn slowly back to green
sharp salutes to all who fell
and tears for tiny tots
whole families whose last days

were ended with loud rifle shots
nature heals what we as men
cannot hope to repair
and God cradles the souls
of all that died too early there
the saddest part is 30 years
have passed since babies burned
yet we are still planning new wars
with lessons never learned
with thousands of young men
still missing from our battles past
they're bent on sending new ones
off to fight and breathe their last
while we all stand quite helpless
as this evil die is cast.



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