Poem: Losses of war

My son lies dead
beneath the sea
while yours lies still
beneath the sands
of an ancient desert land.

My son’s face
is bathed in tears
while your son’s face is dry
and tearless in its weeping.

My son’s hair surges,
like seaweed in the current,
while your son’s hair
tosses in the wind
like strands of winter grass.

— Dennis Mellersh

 

About Dennis Mellersh

Dennis Mellersh is an independent writer, journalist, editor, and editorial consultant.
This entry was posted in Personal experiments in creative writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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