Two feet tall

There she stood two feet tall,
Once an imposing edifice burnt to the ground.
Long dark locks and a blackened frock,
Held her ragged doll one soulful eye and a smock.

Two footprints in the ash that cloaked everything,
I thought I heard her sing, it might be the sad song of my heart.
She walked towards that hearth,
All that she knew was forever lost.

There he stood two feet tall,
A burning hut and a body in a pool of blood.
Mother. Get up. But his screams were unheard,
He held her finger in his hand and asked her to take him home.

People everywhere running for cover,
He stood on the street beside his mother.
It was a song of horrors untold,
Someone pushed him to the ground.

It was a blur of people, orange white blue,
I ought to hear their voices thought I,
As quiet as midnight on a moor.
Down that garden path she walked.

I saw all but the tears sliding down her cheeks.
She bent down and picked something up,
One tiny hand held a locket of gold, the other held a doll ragged and old.

I watched her as she stood up.
And there she stood two feet tall.

He pulled himself up muddy and bruised,
All of a sudden everything lit up,
Just as it appeared the light was gone.
But there was no one standing two feet tall.


War and Peace

1180880_War-and-PeaceWar destroys all. All except love. Love is the first weed reaching for the sun in a battlefield scorched to the ground.

Love is that soldier’s letter saying he will be back, to hold her and to kiss her, and they will live together in a world where love conquers all.

Love is those people forced to hide in a bunker, knowing the world as they know it will end but they will always have each other.

Love is the innocence of a little girl looking onto a street with soldiers marching towards the horizon.

Love is the boy who went to fight battles he knew not for whom or why and returns a man who knows war is not glory.

Love is a song sung after a long days fight, a howl of sorrow, the sound of unfurled flags. And love is that fleeting moment of silence before the next bombing.

Love is that comrade who gives his life to save his friend who has a wife and a daughter waiting for him back home.

Love is the elixir that keeps the injured alive. Love is every helping hand and every tearing eye.

Love is the wreaths, candles and prayers. Love is never to forget.

Love is a nurse holding the hand of a man wounded in battle, letting him know to die is easy, but to survive takes real courage.

Love is the hope of a better tomorrow. People may not survive wars, but love always does.

Love is not war. Love is peace.