Sweet dainty hands with candle-like fingers
Nails trimmed enough to titillate one in sight...
I sit in the dark with eyes stare at none
With my heart so heavy as mound of stones...
**I wrote this poem on the evening of September...
September 11, 2001...
"what do you wanna be when you grow up?"
he thinks of his long list...
When your sad
Hurt or lonely...
I see the hills and empty fields
Encased in dusty hue...
I'm sorry this must be in writing rather than in...
I feared that by facing you with my decision...
Michael Came Home
By Mark Spencer...
The tones of our skin
The colors of our eyes...
Every Morning We Wake In Our Warm Beds
While He Wakes Up In The Dust And Heat...
His Blood Stained The Ground
Her Tears Hit His Tags...
We are soldiers
And we march on...