by Lisa Hilbers
Friday, March 10, 2006
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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Deep; Growing with intensity;
He lies there in the dark; Not able to
shatter the pane between him and the
fault line of then and now-
Simmering; Just short of breathless
In the afterglow of silica hell-
Eyes swollen from the fallout-
And he hears the cries; Still he hears
the cries that will never dismiss him-
Once rock solid; There within lies discomfort
and the quivering; Oh so unshakeable-
Photos on the bedroom wall- Same as ever
before- Not one speaks to him like they
Even they notice; and turn away from it all;
So why canít he?
They werenít there; They donít know; Didnít see;
Didnít hear the cries-
Never saw the hurt in my Brotherís eyes-
and felt the pain; that damn crucifying pain
just before; Just before one dies-
Or the guilt of having to walk away-
Neighbors nod; Then go back to pruning
their fruit trees-
Like they donít know; How could they?
Can they not see me? Hell, maybe they donít.
My children give me a quick hug-
Just like they had always done before-
Can they not feel the difference?
Backward emotions; So happy to be home;
staring at the stains on the living room carpet-
Red wine; A dinner party reminder-
Roadside bombs in brown paper bags-
Thunderous garbage trucks roll down his spine;
Stopping just short of exploding-
Squealing breaks alerts him to the danger-
Fingertips slash into the center of his palms-
Rubbing his scratchy swollen eyes; Lying there
in the darkness of what's left of that silica hell-
He turns to the beautiful face sleeping beside him-
Takes her warm gentle hand and pulls it to his cheek-
She relaxes in his arms, and he in hers-
then realizes..heís really home.
© Lisa Hilbers
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|Reviewed by jude forese
|your poem eloquently explores the ramifications and aftermath of war's effect on the personal level ... great write ...|
|Reviewed by Sherry Heim
|This poem burns like the stab of a bayonet in my heart, Lisa. I can feel the gut wrenching terror that won't go away and the enemy that is the night. How does one shift gears and return to their old "normal" life after paying witness to war and destruction, random bombings, suicide bombings, wedding and school bombings...it is a life we would never have known living here, yet it is a daily reality in a place not so very far away. How does he close his eyes and pretend that things can ever again be the same? You peered into the soul of the soldier, Lisa, and you wrote his heart and soul. Excellent poetry!
|Reviewed by Carole Mathys
|Stunning, heart touching write!
love and peace, Carole
|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|As always well done!!
|Reviewed by Birgit and Roger Pratcher
|A most exceptional write, stunning, deeply touching,
Birgit and Roger
|Reviewed by E T Waldron
|Lisa you wring out every emotion when I read your poems, and afterwards I have to take a break to collect myself. The military owes you a debt of gratitude! If there is any justice your book will be a best-seller!
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
|Really got into this one, it ""spoke" to me, as they are wont to say. We who have never laced up military boots and tread on foreign soil to kill or be killed will never understand the mindset of these defenders of America. We can try. We can write our poetry, like this excellent one, and hope that we can portray some of the turmoil and special feelings these homegrown heroes have to deal with on a daily basis. I thought of my Uncle Mac as I read this. A survivor (if you want to call it surviving) of the Bataan Death March in WWII. Came home wrecked. Died that way. You book is going to be fantastic, Lisa.|
|Reviewed by Felix Perry
|Teardrops haunt the memory from this write that you have given to us a glimpse of this man's hell but also the hope of his women's love that never waivers or if it does always returns to hold him close.
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
Such strong emotion; such strong imagery; such compelling writing! The reader is absorbed by your poetry, effectively, stunningly penned; well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.