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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1139665
a poem about the pains of war
There is room and in this room there is a

box it is a plain brown with only a ribbon.

holding it close I undo the ribbon and lift up the lid.

The spice of men cologne

mingle with the wisky stain on womens gloves

On top of them are medal of some young soldier in love,

as he goes to war not knowing he will be leaving his heart and,

Never to return to his love.

Above all those thing there is a letter

seal broken the hand Writing is faded,

but the tears can be seen on the smeared letter.

Those are my grandmother tears and those are her gloves.

Nicole Kathryn Zempel

Copyright ©2006 Nicole Kathryn Zempel

© Copyright 2006 nikki stoltz (nikkitricky at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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