In Lebanon, the children cry
as missiles hit and fathers die.
Their brothers, sisters, mothers too
can’t be dispensed from death’s pursue;
they huddle close as bombs fly by.
Our souls have meshed; the human tie
unites us all within God’s eye.
I warn my heart and walk with you
I hear the roar blast through the sky.
Our throbbing veins keep asking why.
Amid the rubble, your son’s shoe;
the stench of death has filtered through.
Our mothers weep and say goodbye
Copyright ©2006 Mary Davila
First published in The Extension
Bag End Poetry Relay 2006
(Bag End Poet of the Year 2006)
Photo by The Print Shop 21