Sunday, November 27, 2016

A Dark Day


























Thus saith the LORD, thy redeemer, and he that formed thee from the womb, I am the LORD that maketh all things; that stretcheth forth the heavens alone; that spreadeth abroad the earth by myself; That frustrateth the tokens of the liars, and maketh diviners mad; that turneth wise men backward, and maketh their knowledge foolish;   Isaiah 44:24-25
today was a dark day,
rainy and cloudy,
windy and cold;
gloomy and sinister;
it felt like there was
something I needed to do,
but I didn’t know what,
sometimes it feels
as though this is the
story of my life;
dark days and
not knowing what
to do;
I saw a specialist yesterday
about my herniated disk,
he suggested trying a nerve block
to relieve the pain,
he doesn’t know if it will work,
but it beats the alternatives,
so I’m going to go with it;
I watched a show about Hitler
on the military channel,
it was about his rise to power
and the extraordinary events
that made it happen,
it almost seemed supernatural,
which is exactly what it was;
monsters like him
only exist because God allows it;
while watching the thought occurred
that perhaps his whole purpose,
was to put the Jewish people
through a great refining trial,
a test,
before being allowed
to return to their ancient homeland,
it made me wonder if perhaps
the whole purpose of America
becoming a nation,
almost 200 years earlier,
was to make it possible
for Hitler’s eventual defeat,
and pave the way
for God’s chosen people
to return to their promised land,
just like perhaps,
the purpose of the Roman Empire
was to create the circumstances
through which a 700 year old prophecy
that the Messiah would die on a tree
could be fulfilled,
and that the news of His resurrection
could be spread through the known world of the time,
by the technology of Roman roads
and transportation systems;
perhaps;
of course, I’m sure
scholars and experts
much wiser than I,
would laugh at such a notion,
but then it wouldn’t be
the first time, God has used seemingly
unrelated and unimaginable plans,
to confound the wise and knowledgeable;
would it?
who would have thought
that a rag-tag band of uneducated,
fishermen and peasants,
would confound and confuse
the wise men of their day,
witnessing and testifying
to the greatest event
in the history of mankind?
who could have imagined it?
.

.

Stolen Ground
























I have tasted heights so high,
I have swam depths so deep,
touching things along the way,
which were never mine to keep,
traveling beyond all there
was to know,
yet still there is more,
so much more to go;
confusion and sorrow color
these early morning skies,
answers lie hidden
among alternatives and
cascading lies,
places once called home,
crumble into the far-off fading light,
faces once called friends,
disappear into the approaching black
of this forever growing night;
take my hand,
lead me from this land,
hear my voice,
help me make a stand;
darkness grows above,
storms rise from below,
over-fed pretenders
prepare for the final show,
in this never ending battle
which can never be won,
raging just beyond
all that can be overcome;
into the nighttime void a
whisper does sound,
shadows of tomorrow looming large
across this stolen ground,
mistakes of yesterday forever lost,
innocent blood shed,
freedom at such a staggering cost;
take my hand,
lead me from this land,
hear my voice,
help me make a stand.
.

.

Wasichus


























Wasichus;
you have come without asking,
you have taken without giving,
plundering our land,
stealing our food,
go back from where you came;
until you have learned
some manners.
.

.

Sand Creek

















Sand Creek;
the truth dances like a ghost,
a mighty whisper on the wind,
who will hear the voices,
who will right the wrong;
hard to love,
when so much injustice abounds,
hard to forgive,
when innocent blood
runs across stolen ground;
you can never escape the past,
it follows you like a shadow,
it softly surrounds you like a glove,
it slowly becomes a part of who you are,
all the treachery and cowardice revealed,
their souls laid bare,
the self-made bravado and false heroics,
silently exposed;
sons of murderers,
daughters of liars and thieves,
descendants of swine,
a little lower than dogs,
somewhat less than human;
without honor,
without dignity,
without hope;
their homes built upon the hypocrisy and greed,
their tongues filled with the misconceptions and lies,
their legacy standing like a wavering deck of cards,
waiting to crash down on their guilt-ridden heads;
Sand Creek remembers.
.

.

Teach Your Children Well



























“And afterward, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days. I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earth, blood and fire and billows of smoke. The sun will be turned to darkness and the moon to blood before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the LORD. And everyone who calls on the name of the LORD will be saved; for on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there will be deliverance, as the LORD has said, even among the survivors whom the LORD calls.   Joel 2:28-32
Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.” He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one. So from that day on they plotted to take his life.   John 11:49-53
we were going to change the world,
a new society,
a great experiment,
we were different,
we knew more,
we knew better,
we were the solution,
not the problem;
make love not war,
tune in, drop out,
hell no, we won’t go,
rebels with a cause,
defenders of the righteous,
keepers of a higher standard,
a new code;
we became draft dodgers and activists,
poets and musicians,
stock brokers and analysts,
doctors and lawyers,
anything but our mothers
and fathers,
we became consumers,
we became users,
we became takers;
we became more of the same;
hypocrites within a world
of hypocrites,
masters of enlightenment
without light,
monsters disguised as
children of peace,
dogs licking up
their own vomit,
white-washed sepulchers,
dry bones,
sheep without a Shepard,
we fooled the world,
we fooled ourselves;
we became the future;
we consumed until there was nothing
left to consume,
we took until there was nothing
left to take,
we pointed our fingers,
we blamed the man,
we blamed the over thirty crowd,
only to realize we had become the man,
we were the over
thirty crowd;
it was all about us,
the ‘me’ generation,
gods of our
own making;
we taught our
children well.
.

.

Time to Begin




















time moves on,
the energy fades,
the end approaches;
no turning back,
life ends,
life begins,
this is the way of things;
there’s never enough,
broken pieces,
left scattered on the forgotten trail,
leading nowhere,
no more waiting;
I want it all;
every rising sun,
every disappearing sunset,
every dark mysterious moment
in between,
I want it all;
but without You
there is nothing;
the bombs rain down,
the screams cry out,
the noise,
the silence,
the death:
the weeping;
I want it all;
the fighting all done,
no more suffering and pain,
no more darkness and doubt,
the race has been run,
the war is over;
home just a sunrise away;
memories all that are left,
everyone and everything slowly fades,
your face lingers on,
but in the end,
even it silently disappears,
never again,
no more;
time to begin.
.

.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

No Other















I am the LORD, and there is no other; apart from me there is no God. I will strengthen you, though you have not acknowledged me, so that from the rising of the sun to the place of its setting people may know there is none besides me. I am the LORD, and there is no other. I form the light and create darkness, I bring prosperity and create disaster; I, the LORD, do all these things.   Isaiah 45:5-7
For the kingdom of God is not a matter of talk but of power.   I Corinthians 4:20
the empty highway looms ahead,
stretching on forever, no end in sight,
destinations unknown, distant and unexplored,
staring mindlessly ahead, missing the thrill of the open road,
missing the isolation of the high mountain trails,
missing the taste of a young girl’s lips,
the breathless excitement in her eyes,
the feel of her quivering anticipation;
understanding things that no longer are;
it does not matter, the past is gone,
the only truth left, shining brightly ahead,
the small, still voice, speaking deeply within,
opening your eyes, revealing things
you could never have imagined,
incomprehensible things, things of beauty, things of truth,
knowledge for which words have no expression,
leaving you humbled and in awe;
God is power,
forming the light, creating darkness,
bringing prosperity, allowing disaster,
not bold, foolish talk, not man-made traditions,
not a better way of living, not a philosophy,
far beyond anything our limited minds can comprehend,
healing the sick, giving sight to the blind,
raising the dead to life;
God is power.
.

.

What We Have Become


























This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy. Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good. Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.   II Timothy 3:1-5
easy to mock now,
no more barriers,
no more inhibitions,
godlessness avant-garde,
cool, hip, chic;
truth irrelevant;
poetry an abstraction,
a train wrecked shambles,
a self-indulgent journey into
self-imposed decadence,
masturbation of the mind;
without rhyme,
without reason;
snotty, excitable little twits,
so full of themselves they can barely walk,
writing about things they understand
even less,
fluffy little balls of bullshit,
stuck in the diarrhea of their words,
political correction and self-satisfaction,
going hand in hand;
a religion for the masses;
everyone is a poet today,
everyone a self-made god,
everyone is okay and getting better,
everyone capable of greatness,
everyone a master of their own fate;
it is our culture,
it is our society,
it is our psychology,
it is our national anthem;
it is what we have become.
.

.

Home



















sitting in this greasy, all night, Michigan redneck, café,
sipping on dark stale coffee,
listening to the local philosophers as they eat their breakfast,
on their way to dry-walling and other assorted craft jobs,
indoors of course, getting to cold for outside work,
discussing the beating death of a Wyoming fag (their word),
and how the poor ole boys who did it will never get a fair trial,
with all the negative publicity, and what is this world coming too,
when you can’t even bash a few fags around and get away with it,
after all, they was just having a little fun,
they didn’t mean to actually kill the little fucker, chuckles all around;
while listening the thought occurs,
that with just a different twist of fate,
I could be sitting at that table,
with all the other small town know-it-alls,
discussing world politics and Wyoming fags,
and it is only now that I realize,
I don’t belong here anymore,
just as the swamplands and muskrats of south jersey
do not belong here,
this place I once called home, has become just another town
full of strangers, I no longer know,
nor care too;
this place leaves me feeling empty and impotent;
I think of my wife,
the woman who has been with me
for more years than I once lived in this place,
the woman whose touch still electrifies me,
the woman who has become my one constant,
my only reality,
the one thing I can depend on,
together we have built a new home,
free from family or friends interference,
she is where I belong;
she is my home.
.

.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Small Minds



















small minds look for weakness
wherever they can find it,
it makes them bigger
than they really are,
more than they will ever be,
as they search for a home
that never was,
wandering like roaming gypsies
across desert plains,
mindless,
aimless;
doomed;
time is not a friend,
it takes until there is nothing left,
leaving no trace,
destroying everything
in its path,
without witness,
without hope;
the enemy waits within,
silently ready,
alarmingly knowing,
gnawing away,
a growing whisper,
an unknown touch,
a dark, mindless shadow;
“just a little farther” it hisses;
just one more
momentary lapse longer,
just one small break in protocol,
better safe than sorry,
sooner or later
it comes to us all;
time is not a friend;
small minds never journey
past the mistakes,
trapped by the insecurity,
lost within the fear;
forever stuck in the glue.
.

.

Never Was



























out here in this no-man’s land
of wasted space,
no one hears the silence,
no one knows the loss,
alone and holding on,
waiting for imaginary rescues
among lost and broken places,
hiding behind enemy lines,
crawling on hands and knees
in-between burned out bunkers,
full of dry, empty words;
never quite reaching the mark;
old debts return,
tears rain down like
sweet summer sweat,
holding on until
there is nothing left;
without hope,
without chance;
beautiful dreams flow like a river,
on their way to imaginary seas,
dancing like butterflies
on the morning wind,
echoing sounds of magic
within the caverns of mindless souls;
one more time,
traveling down this
long and lonesome road,
searching for a home
inside lost and empty ruins,
running from fantasies
that never were,
living within upside down dreams
which come and go;
over before it began;
my eyes have seen what others
have not,
my heart has known that
which no heart should;
sometimes the greatest love
is that which never was.
.

.

The Trail
















Note: If you ever take the trail up to Gunter Ridge in Jefferson National Forest on the 8th switchback (there are 19 all together) after you begin the uphill ascent, you will come to a place I call the Throne. It is a naturally formed chair complete with back and arm rests where you can sit and look out at the valley below.

I come to you at last,
my secret refuge,
my final stand;
it is a journey I have
been making,
all my life;
you taste like chicken salad
sandwiches, and bottles
of Pepsi-Cola
on the last day of school
before summer break,
like hot, July mornings,
your dad taking vacation,
as mom packs the cooler,
for trips to ‘Deer Forest’ or
‘Tower Hill’,
sampling her potato salad,
wanting more;
never enough,
never enough;
time is running out,
it is there in every step,
every whisper,
every breath,
but it is okay,
eventually, we all arrive at the
same destination;
my spirit cries out,
just once more,
just once more,
but the body says no,
never again,
so you travel in your mind,
in your thoughts,
you remember the view,
the touch,
the feel,
you remember the cool breeze,
blowing on your face,
the crows cawing out,
the valley floor,
lying so far below,
the sun shining on your face;
you remember the quiet,
the solitude,
the peace;
you remember
the days gone by,
you see the road ahead,
with a sigh,
you start down the trail
leading home.
.

.



Sunday, November 13, 2016

Blessed
















When I look up and see the green mountain tops, I am home. When I cross the James River and look down on its mighty flowing waters, I am home. When I feel the cool breeze blowing across the valley floor, I am home. And when I realize that this is only a taste of the home to come, merely a shadow of that which You have prepared for those who love You, I am left humbled beyond words or comprehension. Thank you Lord.
You have blessed me
beyond all that my mind
can comprehend,
You have led me through
traps and snares I could not see,
bringing me to perfect places
I never knew existed;
to You do I owe
all that I have to give;
Your mystery is unfathomable,
Your glory beyond mere words,
You stretch out Your hand
and all creation is silenced,
You speak and Your word
becomes reality,
the Holy King of the universe,
the Lord of all there is,
the Great I Am,
Ruler of Heaven and Earth,
my God,
my Everything;
let me praise You
forever.
.

.

Joshua
















And if it seem evil unto you to serve the LORD, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.   Joshua 24:15
choose you this day
whom ye shall serve;
the time is drawing near,
lines are being drawn,
be on one side or the other,
no room in between;
choose you this day
whom ye shall serve;
you have witnessed the truth,
you have walked in the shadow
of His mighty presence,
you have reaped the harvest
of His blessed mercy;
so choose you this day
whom ye shall serve;
but as for me and my house,
we shall choose to serve the LORD.
.

.

Up Here
















But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them.   II Timothy 3:1-5
up here I hear Your voice,
whispering through the early morning silence,
up here I am never alone,
up here You walk with me;
comforting me,
carrying me,
guiding me,
protecting me;
down there,
You are reduced to a psychology,
a feel-good philosophy,
a self-improvement technique,
a better way of life,
blaspheming Your name,
making a mockery of Your kingdom,
denying the power;
forever looking but never seeing,
forever listening but never hearing;
You are so much more,
far beyond all that
our limited minds can comprehend,
more than anyone can fathom,
giver of life,
creator of all things;
the Great I Am,
the holy King of the universe,
the Alpha and the Omega;
Everything.
.

.

Our to Choose





















“Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst. The sun will not beat down on them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd; he will lead them to springs of living water. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Revelation 7:16-17
We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:6
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:12
I have found a home here,
for good or for bad,
for better or for worse,
it may not be much,
but it is mine;
I sit on my porch,
I feel the warm sun
on my face,
I look at the mountains,
I listen to the crows;
this is my home now;
it’s all there is,
it’s all I need,
it’s all there ever
will be;
I do not know how
much longer it will last,
it is beyond my control,
it is out of my hands,
but I will rest here,
for as long as I can;
I am tired of who is right,
who is wrong,
choosing sides,
blaming one,
justifying another;
we are all wrong,
we are all to blame;
you,
me,
them,
‘those people;’
we are all liars,
murderers,
thieves,
cheats,
hypocrites;
it is in our blood,
it is our dna,
it is who we are,
it is what we will be;
we are all
something less;
there is no wrong side,
no right side,
there is only self-righteousness
and arrogance,
or mercy and grace,
our will,
or God’s will;
it is for us to choose;
now there is weeping,
now there is anger,
now there is fear,
but soon enough it will be
no more,
the shadows will fade,
the misery will no longer exist,
the sadness will turn to joy
the darkness into light,
the tears will all be
wiped away;
we will be home at last.
.

.

Another Day in the Valley
















the sky turns gray, with
fiery streaks of red,
wood stoves fire up,
smoke rises from chimneys,
as the dawn of a new day
is ready to begin;
a train rumbles through the valley,
the James flowing swiftly beside the tracks,
they come more frequently now,
pulling coal cars packed to the brim,
on their way eastward to
Richmond and Washington,
replenishing stockpiles in
preparation for winter,
just as they have
for a hundred years;
it makes you wonder
how much can be left;
in the distance a hawk
soars above Gunter Ridge,
standing exposed, naked and bare,
glistening in the early morning sun,
leaves, three times the size of a mans hand,
cover the nearby ground,
forming a blanket through which the squirrels
scamper to and fro,
deer hunters scour the surrounding forest,
searching for fresh meat and trophies,
hanging the morning kills upside down,
as the blood drips to the ground below;
talking about the ten pointer
that got away;
everything remains the same,
just as it has for generations,
and you silently think;
why would anybody want it
any other way?
.

.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Wept



















As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”   Luke 19:41-42
I do not weep for the truth,
I weep because of the truth;
I weep for the futility,
I weep for the loss,
I weep for the waste,
I weep for the hopelessness;
I weep for the children,
I weep for the tragedy,
I weep for the sorrow,
I weep for the suffering,
I weep for the inevitability.
.

.

Almost a Religion


















in the morning, I am reduced
to plates of cheetos and potato chips,
attempting to satisfy the great beast within,
with whom I share this life,
chained upon these prison walls,
where we survive, while sinking deeper
into these pits of ultimate depravity,
where it has served from the beginning of time;
can it sink any lower?
occasionally it becomes far too personal,
as I take a step back,
taking refuge among the reality of it all,
finishing up the chores and
lesser known deeds along the way,
for which there is no thanks,
even from those who know it all to well,
it is then that reason comes through,
sharp and crystal clear,
like lightning bolts on dark, starless nights,
showing limitations for what they are,
and how little there really is;
we are as nothing when compared to this storm,
yet together we defy the fury,
providing mystery to this epiphany of
endless rushing fools,
where not a one survives,
in spite of mighty cries for merciful solutions;
that which means the most,
is usually the least of it,
in the eyes of those who see only for themselves,
as this great dream continues on,
down winding, endless roads,
for which there is no choice,
only illusions of options,
changing shape with a wave of the hand,
twisting and weaving,
into something new and fresh,
until the outer layer is removed,
only to find the same old story,
inside brand new skin,
like a giant vacuum,
it sucks all that there is,
into it’s deep dark hole,
while some hold on a little longer than the rest,
but eventually, even they are swept away
by the weight of those who stand above them,
waiting their turn for the great slide,
into this vast and empty wasteland
called life;
mowing the lawn,
on cloudy, rainy Sunday afternoons,
can be most rewarding,
depending upon the method
with which it is approached,
and the spirit in which it is given;
in fact, it is
almost a religion.
.

.

grieve




















I would do it;
but the finality of it all
stands in the way;
the uncertainty;
the hesitation;
sometimes I think,
this is the way it should be
all the time;
beyond feeling,
beyond caring,
beyond knowing,
beyond rewrites and
perfection,
beyond judgment,
beyond misery,
beyond charades,
beyond lies,
beyond self-delusion;
beyond love and fantasy,
beyond wondering and doubt;
beyond self;
every denial demands
atonement,
every question requires
an answer,
for every gift
there is a price,
for everything worth having
there is a cost;
I wish it were not so,
I wish there was another way;
madness rules,
darkness lights the way,
You are all that is left
at the end of the day,
there are things
bigger than ourselves,
beyond thinking or reason,
things that matter most,
things that define
who we are;
the miles go by,
the years pass,
the end is near;
soon enough,
soon enough;
this poverty has
another face,
another kind of soul,
quiet and alone,
frightened and confused,
suicide can be so blind,
nothing more than
a whisper,
spitting and sputtering,
laughing and pretending;
you cannot love anyone,
until you have learned
to grieve for everyone.
.

.

Tolstoy





















I knew a girl once,
her name was Holly,
we were lovers,
I met her in Florida,
she lived in Pennsylvania,
she used to come to New York
and Connecticut to visit me
when I was in the navy,
she was insatiable,
we once made love six
times in a row,
it was a personal best,
she married a trucker
she met on the road
while driving from Connecticut
back to Pennsylvania,
I don’t know what became
of her after that;
she made me happy;
Tolstoy was human too,
despite great efforts to
prove otherwise,
he lived,
he loved,
he laughed,
he disappointed,
he failed,
he tried to grasp concepts
and ideas,
beyond human reason
and understanding,
but he was human
after all,
we all are,
on our own;
we can be nothing more;
there are things greater
than ourselves,
but only a few
ever find them,
things greater than living
or dying,
eating and drinking,
war or peace,
making love to
beautiful young girls;
the Tolstoyans had it
all wrong,
just as the Bolsheviks,
the Luddites,
the Communists,
the Catholics,
the Republicans,
the Democrats,
and a thousand other
man-made institutions,
organizations and religions,
it is much deeper,
far more profound,
than anything our simple
human minds
can comprehend;
Tolstoy understood this
better than anyone;
Holly,
if you’re listening,
thanks for the memories.
.

.

Tukarov



















Tukarov was dead,
it seemed like only yesterday
we had danced at his wedding,
now his body lay quiet,
face down in the mud,
a gaping hole where
his chest had once been,
ripped apart by a 50 caliber shell
from a sniper’s gun;
I wondered if he had felt anything
as the bullet ripped through
his flesh,
tearing out pieces of lungs with it,
it couldn’t have been much
I thought,
he was dead before
he hit the ground,
perhaps it was better this way,
only a few months earlier
he had lost Ulena
in an air strike,
after that he had never
been the same;
“we must do something,
we must fight back,
we must not die like
sheep” he had insisted;
convincing me to
join the ‘cause’ with him,
now I could not
remember what
the ‘cause’ was,
only that I was cold
and afraid,
as I sat with the rest
of our patrol,
listening to our commander
brief us on tomorrow’s
raid,
wondering when this
nightmare would ever end;
Tukarov was dead,
long live Tukarov.
.

.

The Great War




















I lost a great deal in that war,
we all did,
we lost friends and
neighbors,
homes and wealth,
family members,
possessions,
we lost everything,
yet because we lived,
we lost nothing,
I sometimes wonder
who the lucky
ones were;
those who perished or
those who survived;
no one could say
how it began,
like most wars it had
no beginning or end,
it simply came and
went,
like measles,
or smallpox,
or the flu;
when it was finished,
those who were left
simply picked up the pieces
and started over;
there was very little choice;
they said it was the war
to end all wars,
just like all the wars
before it,
no one really cared one
way or the other,
the time for caring
had long since come
and gone,
now there was simply
living or dying,
breathing or not breathing,
seeing or not seeing,
surviving or perishing;
a world of our own creation,
a nightmare of our own doing.
.

.

Collateral



















I held her in my arms,
as the life slipped from her
small, frail body,
she couldn't have been more
than 7 or 8 I thought,
as I looked into her cold,
lifeless eyes, staring blankly into
the clouds up above,
only moments before
the roar of jets had filled
the afternoon sky,
then a blinding light, followed
by deafening sound;
then silence;
now this child,
lay broken and torn
in my bloody arms,
I had seen her in the
neighborhood before,
always laughing,
always smiling,
beautiful;
innocent;
later the news would
say the attack was a
coordinated effort
by government forces,
dropping a laser-guided smart bomb
on a known terrorist safe-house,
killing 15 with only minor
collateral damage and loss
of life;
all-in-all a pretty good
day for the 'good guys'.
.

.

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