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Bible Is The Womb
Inside I only hear lost voices
Taste buds of the tongue
And burnt sensations at fingertips
Healed now

Forgotten crys and howls
Daughters lost and stolen
Sons sent for battle to fight
Gone now

Her new spring dress bleached
Stained from the power struggle
Laughter kept away
Hidden from yesterday's children

The trees now sway
Without a trace of wind
The rain soaks up the ground
And the dead rise from the earth

You are not sad today
Just remembering the horror
Of airplane dreams
And truth of todays news

 2001 David Greg Harth