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Then there you were.

Calling through the din of war,
you beckoned,
and I obeyed.

I make amends.

The muzzle of my gun
muted,
I mask my military might
and squat to greet
your greatness.

Give me your hand.

For I
am more than war.
A mother;
my name is Mary.

Call me Mother Mary.

Come,
and I will write
my name
upon your innocence.

Please.

Do not let
the coldness of your
hand
reflect your heart.

My alter ego.

In the desert dunes
you clench your childish
fists
to fight a world
that wearies you.

I am not your enemy.

The first casualty of war
is truth.
Fraught with fear,
you fumble for a friend.

Let me in.

I too,
curse this war
that brings us
both to tears.

In the silence of a moment shared,

we both
stand on
Ground Zero.

Lost within my dreams.

Snatching sleep
in shelters,
I no longer know
what I set out
to save.

Your fingers tremble.

A barren wind
blows above your head.
But this my child
is certain.

After all wars there is peace.

And today
my child?

Today,

Mother Mary
touched

The Hand of God

 

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