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Bobby
Flaming wreckage.
Smothered, I choke from the smoke.
Tears that stream from my eyes.
mix with salt and sweat and soot,
glazed on flesh by the blazing sun.
Only just a boy, Bobby was taken
by a roar of thunder and flame.
What he once was, is no more.
I move my lips, but no words come.
Knowing little of the world
or love or beauty.
Cut short, the life of one so young.
Tell me how to tell his mother
her son died on a Baghdad street,
four days past his nineteenth year.
Give me the words.
No words come.
Bobby's dead.
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Comment by: Valerie - 2007-02-26 18:56
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| Sad poetry, but extremely well written in its entirety. There are many teenagers fighting the war over there. Nineteen is a time for living, hoping, dreaming, not dying. |
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Comment by: - 2007-02-26 14:10
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| Very few things I read move me as this did. |
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Comment by: - 2007-02-23 08:59
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Stunning.
A tragedy is a tragedy - no matter where it happens.
Beautifully written and deeply affecting. Well done, sir. |
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Comment by: - 2007-02-22 23:14
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*sniffle*
i agree with teri. this is a powerful piece that says a lot about things that a lot of people choose to ignore. when soldiers die, we often disregard the news as "irrelevant" or "nothing to do with me". this says otherwise, and shows a glimpse of the pain of death. we can't afford to keep losing lives for no reason. beautiful.
~cerewyn |
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| Thanks, Teri. As a soldier, this is something I think about a lot. |
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