Heaven Skyy

A stillness of silence

a precursor—

summoning violence.

A young child’s cry

bombs blasting–

everyone waiting to die, not asking

the question why?

A solitary soldier presses on, marches on

so much pain – he lingers

As people watch, hands outstretched – a silent

shout for joy — open fingers

And he keeps marching on, until his path comes

to an end and with gentle grace

He crouches, he bends

The child is held in the comfort of his arms–

for a moment in time

feeling safe, feeling warm

For out of such destruction, such pain

A kernel of hope can reign again

lifting the mantle of despair –a falling of  new rain.