War and History Poetry posted April 28, 2008 Chapters: Prologue 1 -2- 3... 


Exceptional
This work has reached the exceptional level
The objective of every father

A chapter in the book RESIDUE OF WAR

A Safer Place

by Gypsymooncat


These are the things any absent parent would want their children to know

Part I
When you were born, my heart was split in half by two emotions:
one was an unbridled sense of fatherly devotion.
The other one was fear for how a Navy man like me
would keep you safe -- it seemed like an impossibility.


For years, the Middle Eastern pot was getting set to blow,
the when and how not something anyone could hope to know.

The situation, like a bomb attached to shortened fuse,
could go off any time while ever it was not diffused.

I took this worry with me every time I was deployed,
(but hid it while at home; that time was ours to be enjoyed).
I called you when I could and kept the conversation light.
You'd talk of school, your friends or I'd describe the sea at night.


I'd tell you of a fiery moon that rose from black horizons,
how she'd slowly change from flaming-red to icy diamonds.
You'd sigh in pleasure, saying that you'd love to see it, too.
No war would stop me doing that, or anything, for you.

-00-

On eleventh of September, zero-one, we witnessed hell,
when through an act of terrorism, both the Towers fell.
The world at large grew sombre, looking on with grave concern.
For life the way we'd known it ended as the Towers burned.

Just over twelve months later, bombs exploded throughout Bali:
in Paddy's Bar, the US Consulate; the Nightclub Sari.
There were many hurt with many others being killed.
Retaliation loomed - the threat of global war fulfilled.

America stood poised, its arrow aimed upon Iraq,
we knew that once that arrow flew, there'd be no turning back.
The US and her Allies raised a piercing battle cry
and stormed the desert, armed as one, beneath a blood red sky.

-00-


A coward I was not but I was scared for leaving you.
How I yearned to be at home, beside my Princess Boo.
A glance across the clouds just as the plane began to lower,
showed you standing there, in that pink dress and feather boa.

Your image disappeared from sight but lingered in my mind.
I took it as a message - as an otherworldly sign -
to keep my troops protected, for they'd be my family too.
So, silently I vowed that all of us would make it through.


Part II
Twelve long months went by before we stepped aboard a plane
that bore us home together, and I never left again.
And yet I felt a subtle tinge of insecurity;
those months apart had changed you, like the war had altered me.

You'd grown so tall and even lost that chubby, baby-face.
My Princess Boo was gone and left a lady in her place!
You looked so like your Mother that I had to hide a tear.
I knew I had my work cut out and wished that she was here.

Picking up where I'd left off; the milestones I had missed,

and learning who you were, filled up the top spots on my list.
We took our boat out late one night and watched the moon rise up -
to see your face alight with wonder overflowed my cup.

There were times, though, when I lost my temper and withdrew.
You thought it was your fault. You need to know, it wasn't you.
Other times, you'd ask to hear my tales from "over there".
I'd speak of heat, the lack of trees, how sand got everywhere...


I chose to hide what evil I had seen inside a box,
the lid shut tight, no key would turn in either of the locks.
I couldn't share that horror - it was mine to bear alone.
I couldn't share the misery that settled in my bones.


For I still got the war-time chills right up and down my spine.
I still expected bombs, and checked for snipers or for mines.
The bodies of the children and their mothers filled my dreams,
and one I shot by accident...I always heard his screams...


-00-

I may have done my best protecting you, but just the same,
I suffer for that little boy and wish I'd known his name.
And if I were to meet him in another time and space,
would he agree his death helped make the world a safer place?




Recognized


Not entirely auto-biographical.

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