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Poetry

Poetry is more
It is the insistence of cold sweat
It is, put simply
the beat of my soul

Shared poetry

Blessings

2/9/2015

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Our sons held flowers

in open palms

spun golden thread

from air so thin

it hurt to breathe

it in, and broke

the many hours

it had been

since schoolboys roamed

embattled fields,

their lowered guns

directing aim

at borrowed time,

at holes

fresh cleaved

in garden beds

spades for seed,

petunias, poppies

see them bleed

petals stain

the dirt, shoots of green

to salve the hurt

guns cocked

with dandelions

weaving tenderness

links in daisy chains

the blessings

of the benign

of innocence

uttering the names

of every little man

unhand unarm

offer peace

lilies and open

palms, amen.

Written by Reka Jellema and Kathryn Ross

February 2015

Copyright Kathryn Ross and Rela Jellema 2015

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    Kathryn Ross
    Rossi@serenebeliever
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