Brush Strokes in D Minor

The water shuddered
as I threw a rock in the pond;
the wake pushing out
stirring the life beneath the surface.

Walking amidst the sorrows of the Holy Land…

These camouflage fatigues are heavy
like the heat bearing down on this desert.

Holding my breath I pulled my rifle up slowly
glaring through the infrared;
impressions stalking the twilight
in the summer of resolve.

Sending a rock into the pond
I watched him fall
slowly to the bottom;
pushing out the sand that lay in his path.

Continuing my escape into the life behind me,
underneath soft brush strokes of percussion….

In the kitchen, she’s cooking dinner.
The girls are chasing a dog’s wagging tail
running and screaming in delight;
at the near chance of catching it.

The sounds of jazz adhering to every crack
and crevice of that old house.

Father I call on you …

Send me home
far away from this.
Where the peace of this world
is stirring;
the peace I represent
that throws so many rocks.