Army Mom’s Safe Haven


When all the
words they’ve spoken,
have turned
to dried, red mud;

When dandelions
turn to weapons
and water
turns to blood

Well, maybe we
can understand
how they love the baby
but crucify the man.

When wildflowers
turn to bullets
and paper turns
to sand

Then maybe, maybe,
I’ll begin to

©Copyright March 13, 2008 by Christina