In Iraq Too Long

IN IRAQ TOO LONG

There are no shadows in an empty room,
unadorned windows glare like baleful eyes
on shimmering broom-swept floors
once warmed by colored carpets
that caressed the bare feet of children
and softened their child sounds,
like a mother’s finger gently pressed
against a lip–
now only the sounds of battle
rebound from bare walls,
bare floors,
bare everything.
Where did all my dreams go?
Some reside beside the road
waiting for the gruff hands of men
who come in early morning to cart
away the rubbish of my mind
and some were bought by others
to furnish their own private dreams
and some were given away
to repay some past kindness
Some reside with her
and some with me–
two halves of a lost dream
living separately.

by Lewis Sanford Smoler