Roman candles.
Soaring squealing
Pealing blastoffs.
When I was a child,
I loved the big bravado of it all,
The nighttime turned bright,
And all the world a stage.
Sparklers held in little hands,
And even we little ones seemed
Fierce and free and brave,
Running through the night with firepower.
All these years later,
After too many desert storms
And too many soldiers home in
Shattered pieces and too many
Sweet children ripped apart by
Our holy American firepower,
And all I hear tonight are bombs.
Bursting in air, perhaps.
But doing us no honor
And making no one free.
 |
| November, 2004, Falluja, Iraq |
