A Battle Rages

Inside that heart

                a desire, a faith, to protect

                a flag of faces, loved

                red, white and blue

Inside that hand

                a weapon was held

                now closed to a fist

                lashing out against

                pointing in to self

                destructive, afraid, alone

Inside that eye

                a horseman galloped in

                roughshod and violent

                creating infinite tears

                an acidic aftermath

                that goes unshed, burning

Inside that mind

                a stand against solitary hells

                helpless, voiceless calls

                click, whispers explode

               

Inside that soul

                a battle rages.

Some of My Boys

Goofy, gangly and grinning,

some of my boys that sat in my classes

have not only enlisted,

but have been sent overseas

into the war, into harm’s way.

I see them on leave

or on a digital picture

grinning, maybe gangly still,

but goofy no more

due to the war, due to harm’s way.

“Hey, Mr. Sura,” they say,

“remember when..”

“…and you smiled and said...”

We were a brotherhood of goofy and grinning

before the war, before harm’s way.

My son reads and watches

about soldiers, brotherhood, honor and death

while he is goofy, gangly and grinning in life.

He has heroes, the boys I know,

in the war, in harm’s way.

He makes me proud that he cares.

He respects their call and their risk

while he and his high school buds

stumble around goofy and grinning,

away from war, away from harm.

And my goofy, gangly, grinning boys

stand watch afar and keep my son safe.

They say, “We got him covered, Mr. Sura.

“Your wife and daughter too.

For them, no war, nor harm’s way.”

All I am left to say is

“Love you guys,”

in my goofy, gangly, grinning way.

“Come home safe

from the war, from harm’s way.”