Dances With Dragons

Dances with Dragons

Forts of dreams for liberty
stand firm in a spiral of grief
as we bury our dead,
pray for the prisoners of war
trapped by a man with axes for palms.
We know Hussein will use
his own for human shields,
dress soldiers in civilian clothes.
Rules of war mean nothing to despots
who murder to garner the puppet strings.
He'll let his people die of thirst
before he'll drain his swimming pool.
This is a dance with dragons and fire,
with vultures and worms.
Turn the other cheek just once;
he'll score it with razors and knives.

I clean the shelter of my home,
mop a floor that doesn't need
ammonia baths just to dodge
the noontime news.
Spirits sagging at the price
of deserts in the throat of battle
coughing sand and coming blood.
Someone's husband, someone's son
is braving cold bullets and scathing dust.
Edges of concertina wire
for ribbons on this pulsing horror.
White flags they trust
could be warm blankets over guns.
Their every step is thick black ice --
still they march to save our wrists
from shackles and no future gait.

Janet I. Buck

Posted over on Ariga