Open Poem: Amid warring cries

Amid warring cries for peace

we have heard the lullaby

and succumb to the dreamless sleep

rocked in the handmade cradle

of the eternal holocaust.

We drift a warm bed made

when half the world away

a mother cries, “My Sargent son

of only nineteen years is dead;

laid aside his hero father.”

To enter the maternal void

of wedding white she bespeaks

the seed of new cries, she carries

tears to his shroud, accepting

his honor within a folded flag.

There alone to join as one:

we have laughed and loved,

and now fought and died,

all in the name of freedom,

it's golden chariot to ride.

As the one, another yet becomes,

amid warring cries of peace

we drift a warm bed made

to enter the maternal void,

there alone to join as one,

as the one, another yet becomes,

rocked in the hand made cradle

of the eternal holocaust.

(Originally posted to 2Voices on Oct. 6, 2006)

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(Now forming...the committee to N E V E R elect a President Clinton)
I am William "Papa" Meloney and I endorse this message.