At every break of dawn
My soul wails from a faint heart...
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...
The land of olives
Obliterated to a struggle for life...
His folly is his downfall
every turn may be his last...
A husband sent off to war
fighting for his country...
"what do you wanna be when you grow up?"
he thinks of his long list...
In silence and confinement
resides his soul's merriment...
When your sad
Hurt or lonely...
The bombs fly
a rain of fire...
I see the hills and empty fields
Encased in dusty hue...