willow moon pearce Poems

Children are born blind to hate and bigotry
With their big smiles and loving ways
They are taught ugliness
By unthinking adults and overheard conversation
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Choking smoke
Rolling thunder
The forgotten soldier
Still cries for his mother
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My phone is tapped
My mail examined.
My mere appearance
Can cause anger.
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The roar of flames
And crackle of wood
Together with the thud
Of books guaranteed
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Its 5am, its cold and muddy
I have not had dry feet in two weeks
Dreams of feather comfortors
And endless sleep
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At first I saw
A mass of crosses and lichen stained Angels
Lambs and tombstones
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The media have told me
I will die in the next six or seven years
I listen intently
As I will be taken by a tsunami or earthquake.
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Not to be gulped
But sipped as a fine wine
I find your complexity
Overwhelming, a wine to be savoured
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I remember well, the curse of Sarajevo
My friends cheering, the black line
'We will be home before Christmas'.
I joined because friends had joined.
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Are different thoughts really different?
In ways of dress
Black eyeliner
Long and black beribboned hair?
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