Selecting this card from the deck gave me pause for thought for I haven’t written poetry for years, and then it was usually romantically inclined lamenting broken promises and a broken heart. This past weekend, my sister and I discovered some of our mother’s poetry, penned in her young teenage cursive, still impeccable, and it was so strange to read of her tortured heart written while dating our birth father, when she was about 19 years old. Young love, that eventually did not last, but lasted long enough to allow my sister and me to enter this world. Poetry is often called a window to the soul and reading between the lines, or between the words, as in the title of my blog, gives insight and a private glimpse through that window. The card is “rhyme” but my thoughts are not playful tonight and the poetry I am inspired to write does not rhyme.
The ammunition is sent on paper,
or more often through fiber optic cables
traveling at lightening speed
delivering unwanted messages
that leave gaping wounds.
New ideas spring forth like bandages
offering temporary relief and the
thought that now everything has a chance
of being alright.
But not really.
Because the troops are merely realigning
readying their instruments of war
to mount another attack,
leaving us weaker and suffering wounds
that perhaps are too severe for bandages, stitches or
other medical attention.
Eventually the battle will be won or lost,
but either way, the scars remain
and the exhaustion commands us to