It's started, again,
the link-ups
and down-loads,
the nighttime streets,
rooftop views show
sparse habitation,
the reporters are excited,
nervous, a little jumpy,
waiting for the tracers
of deadly beauty.

There are
spots on local soldiers families,
male and female,
babies and children,
left behind,
mothers in tears, yet, proud
of their children. She sees
war plans and missiles ranges,
carrier and destroyer deployments,
tanks, guns, grenades,
and a Great Scythe, held
in the promise of...Death.

She struggles
with being torn apart,
afraid of differences, of
the madness that can be spurred,
that is formed carefully,
and kept away from the light
of good sense and
shared humanity. It is
a Hot War. But so Cold
as to create a furnace
of emotions, to send up
a stench of intolerance,
and a blanket of instability,
and sadness...
war freezes, and burns.

Erin Moen
3/19/03
Copyright 2003 ©