A War-Torn Cornfield

A War-Torn Cornfield
By
Richard Vance

Wish away the hours
in a pumpkin patch – or is it corn?
While sultry scarecrows,
Torn and tattered all,
Stare indifferently across the fields,
So far away…
At fence rows worn with age…and bullet holes!
But not at crows – or even doves –
But at the gray torn sky;
Into time…
At memories that they used to have -
Rag-Tag at best…
A lone bird cries out to scare,
But no one’s there to hear,
Or even care…
No lights appear,
Nor friendly words drift in the wind,
No heartbeat flows…
So does love really exist in a war-torn cornfield?
So far from home?
Not likely!
The loneliness just bleeds on through,
Goes on and on and on…
And even through they say:
“…a time and place for everything…”
It’s not so true!
Not here!
So damn loud, but still the silence reigns,
And God just gazes into empty space,
His teardrops fall…
While all around a dance goes on that no one sees –
A jig perhaps?
While the angry breezes blow,
And forgotten, unseen men walk by…


Copyright 10-19-11