The Bus Stop
I
drive my son,
A
soldier boy in uniform,
To
the bus stop where
Woman and children have been
stabbed,
Men ran over,
And three boys kidnapped and
murdered
On
the way home from school
And still the place is alive
With humanity on the way to
Everywhere.
Fear remains trampled on the
pavement
I
send my worry skyward and
Turn my son towards the
sunrise.
See how the yellow light
Glows and spreads,
So
soft and gentle,
Crossing borders and
Caressing the vision
Of
all mothers
Who must leave their child
At
the bus stop,
On
the way
To
a place
Touched by the
sun.
Brief Bio – I find that training for marathons is an ideal
time for rearranging all those words in my mind into poetic thoughts and
stories.
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