Rice Fields Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Diminutive rice paddy's cry
Villages copulate with war
Shedding all but the soul
We tremble like dying leaves
Sacred soil of our ancestors
Sacred sky of all the gentle
Thatch huts burn in the night
Flags fly like charred flesh

Now the wind has new visitors
Ghost that walk main street
Ghost of children’s dreams
No silhouettes in candlelight
Where is the moon for her daughter?
Eyes of endless rain
Tides driven by guns and fire
She stares at the rice fields